The W Effect
by quillstrike
Summary: Willa Thorne: potion brewer, successful businesswoman, Slytherin. / Willa Thorne: scrambling scientist, debt-ridden teenager, near-Squib. / Willa Thorne: The W Effect.
1. Lethal Acid Weapons

**Lethal Acid Weapons**

The ratio of Bobotuber pus to Goosegrass was all wrong. I scowled down at the lurid green potion bubbling sluggishly on the table. I'd added too much Bobotuber pus, and it had completely overpowered the delicate Goosegrass. If I tried applying this potion on someone's skin, it wouldn't just eradicate their acne - it would burn a hole right through them.

Bobotuber pus was commonly used in acne medication - I wasn't doing anything groundbreaking in that respect - but I'd hoped to avoid its harsh drying effects through the addition of Goosegrass, a soothing plant used in many sleep draughts. If the potion succeeded, I'd add it to my line of improved skin care potions.

Obviously, though, something had gone wrong. The potion now smelled strongly of wet socks and released the occasional angry bubble. The students seated in the row in front of me looked back accusingly. I ignored their glares; they could handle a little stench.

Perhaps the potion just needed an extra kick. I ran to the front of the classroom, choosing a route that took me farthest away from Professor Slughorn. Halting before the large glass cupboard that contained the Potions ingredients, I chanced a glance over my shoulder. My classmates were still busy blindly replicating whatever mundane potion Slughorn had assigned, and the professor himself was busy fawning over a redheaded Gryffindor's potion.

Perfect.

Spying a large yellow flask of Honeywater (I only needed a little for this particular potion, but I could always use more Honeywater for my general supplies), I siphoned 200 mL to an empty glass vial and, corking it tightly, tucked the smaller vial into the wide sleeve of my robes. I considered the glittering array of ingredients and, sparing another glance over my shoulder, tucked several more important components into my sleeve. I was very careful to take only the ingredients Slughorn had in excess, making sure to space out my scavenging sessions over several classes.

Now to grab a decoy ingredient - I glanced back at the nearest table, resisting the urge to roll my eyes when I saw the hapless Gryffindor mutilating some Jobberknoll feathers. The brightly coloured feathers were often used in weaker truth serums, a much-tested component of N.E.W.T.s. Obviously, Slughorn was sticking closely to the standard curriculum. I supposed it made sense; N.E.W.T.s were only three months away, and all the professors were stuffing as much last-minute cramming in as they could.

I'd long since given up on following his directions, instead taking advantage of the valuable access to his supply closets and cauldrons to run my own experiments. Although my grades didn't show it, Potions was my favourite class.

I took a handful of Jobberknoll feathers and, pinning my other arm awkwardly across my chest to prevent my pilfered ingredients from crashing to the ground, walked carefully back to my seat in the row farthest from the front.

I halted meters away from my desk; my Potions partner, a skinny, freckly boy from Gryffindor, was peering into my cauldron, his robes hanging dangerously close to the hot liquid.

I cursed inwardly. I'd chosen the boy as my partner because he was undemanding and willing to sacrifice his Potions grade for a steady supply of my long lasting sobering draughts. Why did he have to become curious now? If his skin came in contact with the undiluted Bubotuber pus...images of prolonged questioning flooded my mind. Slughorn would have to report the incident, which would draw Dumbledore's attention...I shuddered at the thought of the inquisitive, odd Headmaster's attention. My fool of a partner could bring my whole business down with one move.

I caught myself wishing I were more adept at spells - if only I could whip out my wand and send him flying away from the cauldron with a quick hex - and hurriedly banished the thought. I didn't need fancy spells to rectify the situation. I'd gone seventeen and a half years without relying on my nonexistent magical capacities, and I wasn't about to start complaining now.

I hurriedly fished a small, gently fizzing vial of my modified Mopsus potion from my robes. It was my last vial of the valuable, telekinesis-granting potion and meant for emergencies, but the potential downfall of my painstakingly built potions business, which I'd named simply "W," warranted drastic measures. I downed the potion hurriedly and without notice (thank Merlin I'd chosen a seat in the very back). My mind cleared immediately, and I saw small, glowing white threads attached to everything within the room. While the unaltered Mopsus potion granted both temporary Seer-like abilities and telekinesis, I'd isolated the telekinetic benefits by negating the effects of the powdered Third Eye with shavings from a giant's big toe.

I reached out the arm not holding my pilfered ingredients and, concentrating intently, yanked the thread attached to my hapless Potions partner.

The Gryffindor jerked to the side, knocking over his stool in the process with a loud crash. The noise drew the attention of several students and, annoyingly enough, Professor Slughorn. The portly Potions professor began making his way to the back of the room, and I muttered a slew of foul curses. There was no way my bright green potion could pass as a failed attempt at the assigned truth serum. Even failed truth serums could only be either blue or brown due to the pigments from the Jobberknoll feathers.

I sighed inwardly, knowing that I would have to ruin this potion to continue my charade of incompetence. The Mopsus potion's effects were already wearing off, and I used the last few seconds of its duration to guide the whole contents of the Honeywater flask from my sleeve to the cauldron.

The flask split open upon contact with the angrily bubbling potion, and the excess Honeywater soon rendered the potion inert. Ignoring the groaning Gryffindor's prone body, I stared mournfully at the ruined potion, which was at least passably brown now, as Professor Slughorn finally reached the table.

He paused, wrinkling his nose at the putrid smell. "What in Merlin's beard - Miss Thorne, did you cut the feathers on the bias?"

I nodded eagerly, assuming an expression of dull confusion. "Yes, Professor. Why? Wasn't I supposed to do that?"

Slughorn sighed heavily, landing a heavy hand on my shoulder. I winced as the gesture jostled my arm, sending several of my concealed vials clinking against each other. Luckily, the professor was too busy waving his other hand in front of his nose to notice.

"You were supposed to slice them parallel to the shaft," he said. He sighed again and, taking his wand from his pocket, vanished the cauldron's contents.

"I'm afraid I will have to give you and Mr. McLaggen here a T for the day, Miss Thorne," he continued.

I nodded, looking contrite. He gave another sigh and, shaking his head, said, "Really, Miss Thorne. I was so gladdened by your remarkable improvement last year and hoped it would continue in this N.E.W.T. level course. Where has it gone?"

I stiffened. Last year, I'd risked notice by improving just enough to qualify for the high-level Potions class and the subsequent access to rarer ingredients, but all that was for nothing if Slughorn demoted me now. Luckily, Slughorn merely returned to the redheaded Gryffindor's table without another word, presumably trying to convince himself that all hope was not lost for the next generation.

The Gryffindor, who had gotten to his feet sometime during the encounter, elbowed me roughly.

"What was that for?" he whispered angrily.

I glanced at him. His curly, golden-brown hair was comically littered with snipped feathers, which rather detracted from his angry glare.

"You're lucky you still have your skin," I said coldly.

He blinked, his eyes widening as he turned to the empty cauldron. "Wh- my _skin_? I thought you would be brewing love potions or whatever; I didn't sign up for lethal acid weapons!"

I stared at him blankly until he fidgeted and looked away. "I was brewing a skin care potion, for your information. And don't worry; I'll throw in an extra vial of sobering draught in your next shipment."

He grumbled for another moment before finally nodding. He turned back to the Quidditch diagrams he was studying underneath the table, and I drew my battered experiment log from my messenger bag. There were only fifteen minutes left in the class - not enough time to brew even the simplest of cough potions. So, instead of chopping up more ingredients, I slid my pilfered ingredients into my bag and, taking out a battered quill, began scrawling notes on the page marked "Milder Blotch-B-Gone - status: BETA."

* * *

"Willa!"

A short fifth year with wildly curly blonde hair burst through the heavy wooden door leading into my secluded and previously private potions laboratory. She skidded to a stop just inches before the long wooden table that took up most of the small room.

She stared at me expectantly.

I tried focusing on chopping the slender Asphodel roots but found myself unable to continue when the she-nuisance began tapping on the table.

"What?" I asked finally, setting down my silver knife. I'd learned from fifteen years of living with the she-nuisance that Lucy wouldn't leave until I humoured her. Even the Room of Requirement couldn't keep her out, as evidenced by her troublesome presence. Besides, the Asphodel didn't need to be added for another three minutes, and I could cut the root in twenty seconds flat.

She grinned triumphantly.

"I have a new conquest!" she declared, twirling a silken lock around her index finger. Honestly, sometimes I wondered how we even shared the same mother. We certainly looked different enough; while Lucy had our mother's colouring and had soft curves, I had my father's dark complexion and athletic build. Lucy was beautiful; Mother always lamented her short stature, for it meant Lucy couldn't follow in her footsteps as a runway model. I was "regal" at a very kind best, as I'd inherited a decidedly odd combination of my mother and father's features. My strong jaw, hooded eyes, and square cheekbones came presumably from my father. My broad forehead, full upper lip, and arched brows came from my mother. While individually the features might have been pleasant, when combined they merely looked...disjointed. Jarring, even.

Still, at least I had enough magic to qualify for enrollment at Hogwarts. I might not be able to perform the simplest of spells, but at least now I knew enough to know that I could achieve magic through means other than my almost-useless wand. Besides, as long as I had enough magic to power my potions, I was fine. I didn't need to cast fancy spells to be a witch.

Lucy coughed impatiently, bringing me back to our conversation.

I frowned, trying to recall the last conversation we'd had; hadn't there been talk of a potential candidate in Slytherin?

"Is it that guy in my House? You know, the tall one? Er - black hair? Quiet?" I asked. I picked up the knife and resumed chopping; once she started, Lucy was hard to stop. I'd long since learned to multitask.

I slid the asphodel root (that had been a challenge to obtain; I'd needed to bribe three separate students with the last of my sobering draught) into the potion, ignoring the slight numbing sensation the juice left on my hands. Now I just needed to wait forty-two seconds before adding the next ingredient. I peered into the thick contents of the cauldron, my thick black hair a sweaty, sticky mess.

Lucy shrugged. "Regulus? I've moved on." She picked up a faintly glowing glass vial and, examining it gingerly, wrinkled her freckled nose.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Careful. It's venemous," I muttered, still staring intently at the bubbling potion. The vial contained my only supply of Venemous Tentacula sap, and if she spilled it on herself it would take weeks for me to locate a student gullible or desperate enough to get another one for me.

She set the vial down carefully on the wooden table. "Be honest - did you say that because you were worried about my health or because you didn't want to risk a loss of a valuable potion ingredient?" she said.

I gave her an assessing glance.

"Health, of course," I said blandly.

She rolled her eyes, but her full lips arched into a reluctant smile.

"Anyway, I am officially going to Hogsmeade with Melinda Ashby!" she declared.

I had no idea who that was, but then again, I could name very few people at Hogwarts. The students were background distractions, only noteworthy if they could be used to help my budding potions business. I knew Lucy only because she was my half sister. I knew Dumbledore because he was the Headmaster and thus the biggest threat to my admittedly illicit business. The rest, if they were not potential customers, were unimportant.

"Who's she?"

Lucy huffed. "Only the fittest of the Hufflepuff fifth years!" she exclaimed.

"You're superficial," I observed, not for the first time.

She stuck out her tongue. "You're boring."

I considered her statement clinically. Personally, I thought it woefully unfair, but then again, Lucy's definition of "boring" probably differed from mine.

I grabbed the vial and, tapping the cauldron three times with my wand, dumped the jar's contents into the gurgling green mixture. The potion immediately released a foul-smelling plume of sickly purple smoke. Lucy, who had come around the table's corner to watch, leaped backwards, her face now dusted with violet powder. I ignored her and the faintly stinging powder which also coated my face, instead muttering a string of incantations as I stirred the potion counterclockwise.

"Tergeo," I heard Lucy mutter to my side.

Two more stirs should do it -

Her ivory wand poked into my peripheral vision.

One more -

"Tergeo," she repeated. The haze of purple coating my eyes and the uncomfortable itching vanished immediately, which was convenient. My hand, however, jerked automatically, which was decidedly inconvenient. Infuriating, really, as the erratic movement counted as an extra stir, thus rendering the potion - a more potent variation of the Venemous Tentacula Juice that I'd been developing for weeks - worthless.

The potion let out a mournful burble before turning a dull grey-black, and I imagined I could hear the pitiful cries of all those hours of hard work emanate from the dark contents.

I stared blankly at the failed potion. I could feel the pressure of Lucy's worried gaze, but I couldn't deal with her right now. Already I could feel the rage simmer in my veins, my mouth itching to expel vitriol. I'd had a nasty temper for as long as I could remember. It came suddenly and with a vengeance, a plague that had pushed away everyone but Lucy. I was stuck in a constant cycle of inflicting pain and regret.

I knew exactly what words would hurt her most - I would target her intelligence first, say that she was too dumb to do anything but chase other people around, that she was always trailing after others. Then I would say I'd seen her new conquest - Melinda Ashby - with some guy earlier today. I'd end the whole hurtful tirade with a particularly potent barb at her relationship with our mother. All of it would be untrue. All of it would succeed in making her cry.

I couldn't look at her. She would have that pitiful, tentative expression in her eyes, and that would make me either hug her or attack her. I didn't know which option I would take so, wheeling away from the destroyed potion, I strode out of the Room of Requirement, my robes still smelling strongly of Venemous Tentacula sap.

 **Author Note: i have 0 self control, which resulted in this. I actually wrote this chapter over a year ago but didn't want to publish anything until I'd completed writing my other OC-centric fic, Of Claws and Talons. Thank you all for reading! Reviews are always appreciated c;**


	2. Thorne - James (Willa) Thorne

**Thorne. James (Willa) Thorne.**

"So will you accept our generous offer? Will you develop and sell more.. _.potent_ potions solely to members of our cause?"

I stared coldly at the tall, dark haired girl standing before my bed.

Louise Yaxley was a seventh year Slytherin and a known supporter of the Death Eaters. While she wasn't as dangerous as, say, Rodolphus Lestrange, her enmity could pose a serious problem to my potions business. I would have to choose my words carefully.

"No," I said firmly.

"You would betray your own House?" she asked, her voice a mixture of shock and outrage.

I shook my head. "I am still selling to Slytherin. I merely will not sell to Death Eater hopefuls-"

The girl, a seventh year, looked dangerously close to drawing her wand. I felt a tendril of fear; if this conversation turned to blows, I would lose. At best, I would be seriously injured and my business put on pause while I recovered. At worst, the duel would draw the attention of a passing Professor and thus scrutiny from the Headmaster himself.

"- _not_ because of any moral compunction, but because it will put my business at risk," I hurriedly continued.

Fortunately, my words mollified her somewhat, and she let her hand drop away from her pocket.

"How will it put your business at risk? I should think selling to such a noble cause would only increase business," she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

I fingered the small vial of Bulgeye Potion in my pocket before saying calmly, "If word gets out that I'm selling to known Death Eater hopefuls, my business will be cut in half. The Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and even some of the Ravenclaws will drop me."

She scoffed. "Business from Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs is worthless," she said.

I shrugged. "Maybe so, but for now, while I'm still at Hogwarts, I need them if I can continue my production of, say, Essence of Aphrodite," I said lightly, naming the potion she bought every month. Essence of Aphrodite was my most popular love potion and for good reason - although it was weaker than Amortentia, it worked by diminishing any negative emotions instead of merely overpowering them with lust. This subtle effect led to a more genuine affection and was less likely to be detected.

Yaxley paused before nodding slowly, a look of respect flashing briefly in her pale eyes. She could understand both the power of the concealed threat and my ambitions for continuing my business.

"Indeed," she said finally. "But I will be approaching you on this subject again."

With one last meaningful look, Yaxley vanished from the room.

I let out a long, ragged breath, staring blankly at my emerald green sheets.

This was the third encounter this month. The Death Eaters were gaining traction at a worryingly rate. I found myself mired in discussions of blood purity more and more often. It would only be a matter of time before my Housemates' attention would turn to me and my less-than-stellar parentage. My mother was a distant relation to the Selwyn family, which helped, but she was also a Squib - in other words, she was basically a Muggle. It didn't help that she'd worked briefly in a Muggle modeling job. To make matters worse, although I'd let my House believe otherwise, I suspected my father was a Muggle, which was another major strike against me.

Luckily, my Housemates were too busy consuming my potions to pay much attention to my heritage. I'd told them of my connection to the Selwyn family, and they'd assumed my mother, sister and I were low-ranked but pure.

My business was the only thing keeping me safe; as long as my potions were needed, I could bypass their scrutiny. In order for my business to continue, I needed to remain unobtrusive. In order to remain unobtrusive, well, I had to sacrifice my pride.

My eyes strayed to the crumpled Potions essay half-hidden underneath my pillow. I could just make out a lurid red "T" scrawled across my scratchy script. The assignment was to analyse the role of Mandrake age in the Mandrake Restorative Draught. Although I'd never personally brewed the potion - Mandrakes were extremely rare, and the market for the draught was very small anyway - I knew it backwards and forwards. Even after seven years of feigning ineptitude in my favourite subject, it still hurt to receive failing grades. I was fine with getting "T"s and "D"s from Transfiguration or Charms; in those classes, I would probably only manage a few points higher even if I actually did try. Those classes rewarded magical ability, which was something I decidedly did not possess.

Lucy, at least, had more magical ability than I did. She was passably proficient in Charms and just scraped by in Transfiguration. She didn't have my knack for Potions, but then again, I didn't have her knack for, well, everything else. At least she didn't have my temper; I thanked Merlin for that. One of us was bad enough. Either I'd inherited my temper from my father or it had originated with me. If my father lacked my temper, that meant I couldn't excuse it away based on genetics. Instead, I was the only one at fault - perhaps I was the only one to blame even if my father shared my temper. After all, he wasn't forcing my tongue...

Still, I had no way of contacting my father to find out. My mother, Genevieve Thorne, was a moderately successful runway model. She relied on copious amounts of my skincare potions to retain her "youthly glow." She brought home a new man every week. These men were always either models or fashion photographers. Lucy's father was a flighty halfblood model from France. My father was probably cut from the same thread, although judging by my facial features, he probably originated from somewhere in southern Asia.

My charmed wristwatch let out a soft ping as a glowing "II" appeared in the air above its glass surface. It appeared experimental potion 2 was ready; hopefully this one would be successful. I hadn't had a new release in weeks, and my consumers were getting impatient.

Sighing heavily and banishing all thoughts of my family from my mind, I grabbed my experiment log and headed towards the seventh floor.

xxxxx

Potion 2, which I'd tentatively named "Euphoria #2", was too weak. I'd wanted to strengthen the first potion in my cheering line with dragon liver, a rare ingredient known for its invigorating - sometimes dangerously so - properties, but the shimmering potion only succeeded in inspiring mild joy. I bottled some of the failed trial for further study, wiping the sweat from my brow.

I looked at the remaining potion. The potion's effects prevented me from feeling anything too negative, so I wasn't feeling any crushing disappointment - yet. I recorded the failure in my log. I couldn't dispose of the potion with an Evanesco spell (I'd only ever managed to vanish a blueberry), so I thought fiercely, "I need a safe way to dispose of this potion."

The Room immediately provided a chute in the far wall, and I grinned. This Room was a blessing. I'd first discovered it by accident at the end of my first year. I'd wanted a place to practice brewing the assigned calming draughts - I hadn't even considered the possibility of creating my own potions back then - and the door had appeared. I'd quickly tested the Room's limits, and it had been home to my laboratory ever since. From what I could tell, no one else - excluding Lucy - knew of its existence, and I'd sworn Lucy to strict secrecy.

I dumped the rest of the cauldron's contents down the chute and, grabbing my experiment log, left the room, still pondering possible solutions to the failed Euphoria #2.

I could always increase the concentration of dragon liver, but the ingredient was too expensive to sustain commercial distribution. I could always grind it up to increase the surface area and thus its properties, but then I risked breaking the liver down too much, which would result in a lethal, rapid jolt of adrenaline.

I was so caught up in contemplating the anatomy of dragon liver - perhaps, with proper tweaking, I could combine it with Doxy eggs to increase its effects - that when I rounded the corner I promptly barreled straight into a line of male students.

I crashed to the ground, my elbow slamming into something warm and firm. Luckily, it cushioned my fall, and I looked down to note with detached interest that, judging by the crest on his robe, it - or he, more accurately - was a Gryffindor seventh year.

He looked quite winded - perhaps the elbow to the gut had something to do with that - and he blinked up at me confusedly with hazel eyes, as if he couldn't believe that this fall had just occurred. Well, I agreed. I wasn't a clumsy person, and if his quick reflexes were any indication - he'd managed to break the fall slightly with his arms - he wasn't, either. The impact was very inconvenient; it had completely halted my train of thought, and now I couldn't even remember which part of the dragon liver I was planning on using.

He looked downwards at the emerald green crest emblazoned on the front of my charcoal sweater, and his gaze immediately soured. Ah. So he was one of _those_. Honestly, the bias against Slytherin only impeded business. I could be selling my potions and spells to all four Houses, yet because of this ignorant prejudice my clientele was limited. _That_ was an even greater inconvenience than this...show of human grace.

Well, two could play at that game - I looked again at his own robes, my eyebrows rising slightly when I saw the gleaming Head Boy badge pinned to his chest. So this was the Head Boy. I had a vague recollection of considering him briefly as a potential customer, but his stubbornly unwavering beliefs made him useless. It was a pity he was prejudiced; otherwise I would have tried striking a business deal with him.

"Do you mind getting off of me?" he said, his voice razor-thin.

Oh. Right. I stood carefully, watching silently as he leaped to his feet in an unnecessary show of his fitness. His companions - all Gryffindors - bore expressions ranging from shock to outrage. The closest one - a rumpled-looking boy with pale green-yellow eyes and a faint white scar hugging his lean jaw - bent deftly to retrieve Head Boy's fallen books. The dark one directly to his right looked like he wanted to murder me, as he had his wand pointed aggressively in my direction.

"Well?" the hostile one demanded, jabbing his wand forward for good measure.

Perhaps that intimidated lesser people. I, for one, could not let him scare me - at least not outwardly. I couldn't beat him, or anyone for that matter, in a duel, and my secret would rapidly be revealed if he attacked. I ignored the wand, instead scanning the hallway for my weathered journal. When I couldn't find it, I felt the first ragged drag of panic kindle in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't like I had written any gushy confessions of love within its crinkled pages, but - even worse - I'd recorded every single one of my inventions within. Thank Merlin for my paranoia; I'd written it in the language Lucy and I had created as bored children, so even if it landed in the wrong hands, they wouldn't be able to read it...at first. It was a simple language based on runes and childhood symbols, and I knew it wouldn't stand up to heavy scrutiny for long.

I fought the urge to whimper. Come on, Willa. Pull yourself together. Think. I, along with the four red and gold cheer squad, was alone in the corridor. One of them had to have it.

I assumed the cold expression I used for business negotiations and turned to face the lion quartet. I caught the angry one with long dark hair shooting a pointed look at the one with tawny hair. What was he trying to communicate?

The dark one felt my gaze and scowled. "Aren't you going to apologise?"

"One of you has my...book. Return it now and I'll forget this ever happened," I said quietly.

The short, chubby one laughed cruelly. "What book?" he said.

Now anger joined the panic pooling in my stomach, painting the edges of my vision red. I cursed inwardly and, digging my nails into the palms of my hand, recited all known potion ingredients alphabetically. When the red finally receded, I forced myself to smile pleasantly at Head Boy.

"Sorry, er…" I paused. I had no idea what his name was. "Head Boy," I finished finally.

The scarred one laughed, but unlike the short one's laugh, his was…not friendly, exactly, but at least it was devoid of malice.

Head Boy assumed an expression of exaggerated offense. "You don't know who I am?" he demanded, bringing a hand to his chest. His sour expression had subsided somewhat, but he still kept a good distance between us.

I shook my head, examining their bodies carefully - not in a Lucy "I want to appreciate your body in a completely non-platonic manner" but in a clinical search for any protruding, book-shaped lumps. The short and scarred ones both had leather messenger bags, but short of dumping a toxic potion on them, there was no way I was going to get a look inside them. I'd gone almost a full seven years without a single detention, and I wasn't planning on risking one - especially here in the open - now.

"Do you know who _I_ am?" I returned.

They blinked blankly, which was answer enough. Good - I wouldn't want it any other way. If they weren't my allies, then I didn't want them knowing anything about me. The more they knew, the more my business was at risk.

"I'm James Potter," Head Boy said, looking a bit sheepish. He elbowed Dark and Hostile, who scowled before slowly lowering his wand.

I nodded, then promptly dismissed the information as insignificant. Well, this encounter was going nowhere. They seemed (relatively) intelligent; I estimated it would take them a week of concentrated effort to crack the code. I'd have to recruit someone from Gryffindor to search their dorms before then.

I turned to leave, halting only when I heard a new voice, disarmingly soft, say, "And your name?"

I hesitated, evaluating my options. I could tell them my name, which would either satisfy their curiousity or incense it even further. Worse still, they might connect it with Lucy and badger her - although, knowing her, she wouldn't mind the attention all that much.

"Thorne," I said finally, not turning around.

 **AN: Thank you all for the reviews/follows/faves/etc! :)**


	3. KICK ME

**KICK ME**

The dining hall was overflowing with warm laughter and chatter as students eagerly devoured the Halloween feast. Although I usually liked eating at a more secluded time, either at the very end or beginning of the allocated meal times, I had business to do. Avoiding all eye contact, I walked quickly through the tables, my hand slipping into my pocket as I neared the Gryffindor table, which was situated between the hall's entrance and the Slytherin table.

I spotted McLaggen's curly hair and altered my course slightly. I slowed almost imperceptibly as I pressed two vials of sobering draught into the pocket of his robe. As I was about to pass him, however, he grabbed onto my arm.

"Oi! Thorne!" he slurred.

I froze, my eyes wide. Judging by the heavy scent of firewhiskey wafting from his robes, he'd obviously decided to start the Halloween festivities early. Luckily, his action hadn't drawn any attention - everyone was too busy eating - but if it continued, it was sure to attract interest. I glanced nervously at the Headmaster's table, where the teachers were laughing and chattering amongst themselves.

"McLaggen, let go of me," I hissed quietly. I mentally took stock of the contents of my pockets; I had a vial of Essence of Aphrodite that I still needed to deliver to Yaxley and a preserved segment of dragon liver that I was planning on examining later. Neither would help in this case. If I could use my wand -

I set my jaw. I couldn't use my wand. When would I finally accept that?

McLaggen shook his head. "No, man, you almost burned my skin off!" he shouted, and to my horror his voice had risen, attracting the attention of several Gryffindors. Their eyes landed on the Slytherin badge on my chest, which might as well have been a "KICK ME" sign.

The bloke sitting next to him, a burly boy with long brown hair, was looking at me with particular animosity. I scanned the surrounding faces, my heart sinking when I couldn't see a single friendly face. Due to inter-House prejudices, I only supplied seven Gryffindors, and I could see none of them now.

I swallowed. "McLaggen, if you do not let go of me, I _will_ cut off your supply," I warned quietly. If I could reach into his pocket, maybe I could retrieve the sobering draught and throw it into his face. He would never risk losing my supply sober. I tried maneuvering myself closer, reaching my hand towards his pocket -

He grabbed my other hand immediately, and I cursed his reflexes.

"Sorry, Thorne, I don't get with Slytherins!" he exclaimed, winking clumsily.

"Slytherins" drew the attention of the rest of the Gryffindor table and, to my dismay, the Slytherins, who were arguably a greater threat.

McLaggen was now jerking my arms around as his voice rose in volume. He was clearly enjoying the attention. "This girl tried burning my skin off in Potions!"

He was getting dangerously close to revealing my whole charade. I chanced a look at the Head's table, my stomach sinking when I saw that even Slughorn had stopped eating to eye the display curiously.

Valencia Parkinson stood deliberately at the Slytherin table, her pretty face twisted into a disdainful sneer. "McLaggen, you're pathetic. Let her go."

Merlin. This was rapidly becoming a full-blown Interhouse skirmish; why weren't the professors stopping it? I twisted my head, looking back at the table at the far end of the room. Three Slytherins had maneuvered to the Hufflepuff table and had begun a loud fight with two first year Hufflepuffs with impressive efficiency, thus occupying the professors' attention.

Bloody hell. I looked back at Valencia. She nodded at me, her scarlet lips curling into a conspiratorial smirk.

I cursed again. This was drawing far too much attention.

My arms were beginning to burn; although I wasn't as short as Lucy, I was still slightly shorter than average, and McLaggen towered almost a full foot over me.

McLaggen's mate stalked forward, abandoning his pumpkin pasties, and drew his wand on Valencia.

"Parkinson, stay out of this. It's none of your business," he snarled.

Valencia arched an elegant, dark brow. "Your mate's attacking a Slytherin. I'd say this falls very much within the reign of Slytherin business," she sneered. You could say what you liked about Slytherin cowardice; when it came to defending one of our own, we were staunchly united. Of course, it helped that I'd provided Valencia with a steady supply of Dreamless Sleep for years without question.

Their interaction had distracted McLaggen and, sensing an opportunity, I wrenched myself away from him. The sudden movement sent me sprawling backwards into the Gryffindor table, and I let out a strangled cry when the hard wood jabbed into the small of my back.

Merlin. This had gone terribly wrong. I considered crawling under the table and hiding there until the chaos subsided, but I feared I'd be kicked.

I looked towards the opposite end of the room; the Slytherins - I recognised two of them as customers, Thorfinn Rowle and Evan Rosier - were now levitating the Hufflepuffs by their ankles.

Behind me, the argument had escalated as more and more Gryffindors and Slytherins became involved. Soon, even the blatant bullying of Hufflepuffs wouldn't distract the professors from the brewing Gryffindor-Slytherin conflict.

It was time to make my escape. Gathering my courage, I plunged underneath the scarlet and gold tablecloth, crawling on my hands and knees down the length of the table.

Once the density of feet (and smashing plates) had lessened, I cautiously crawled out. My robes were stained with several different varieties of pasties and now reeked of nutmeg in addition to my usual faint eau de sulphur (brewing potions was not the cleanest of occupations).

A hand appeared in the center of my vision, and I looked up to see vaguely familiar clear yellow-green eyes. My eyes dropped to the slim red and gold tie tied loosely around the man's white collar, and I recoiled immediately.

Ignoring his offered hand, I scrambled to my feet and, pausing only to throw a quick glance over my shoulder (Dumbledore had thrown a shield charm between the two Houses, and Parkinson was stubbornly throwing hexes at the blue surface), ran unnoticed out of the double doors.

xxxxx

The next day, I found myself penning yet another horribly incorrect Potions essay in the library. Slughorn had assigned a simple potion analysis, this one being an examination of the addictive properties of most cheering draughts. I was feeling particularly rebellious - perhaps it was the result of the prior encounter in the dining hall - and was sorely tempted to write that I'd already managed to isolate and negate most of the effect with Euphoria #1.

The seat next to mine scraped against the floor as a tall boy slid into it.

It was the bloke from before - the sandy haired one with the scar.

"What do you want?" I demanded, scanning the library furtively for any eavesdroppers. If any of Lestrange's crew saw me speaking with one of the most Gryffindor-y of Gryffindors, I was doomed. Thankfully, this late - or early, I supposed - the library was all but deserted, and I spotted only Hufflepuffs, who looked too panicked over their Charms paper to pay much attention. Still, the whole situation was troublesome; I'd tried very hard to remain unnoticed, even by members of my own House. Why was this Gryffindor approaching me?

To my surprise, he dropped a familiar, leather-bound book onto the oak table. My hand reached automatically to take it, but I froze just as quickly.

"Why are you returning this?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

The bloke sighed. "It didn't feel right to keep it from you," he said quietly. "Besides, it's not like we could understand anything inside."

He looked at me expectantly, his eyes gleaming in the glow of my candle.

I stared. "Are you expecting a medal? Congrats, you weren't as big of an arse as you could have been? You _stole_ it. You don't deserve any gratitude," I said angrily.

My temper billowed, and this time the rage was welcome - how _dare_ he waltz in like he was some kind of hero? He had done nothing. Anyone could offer a hand or return a stolen book.

My hands tightened around the edge of the table, the smooth oak wood digging into my palms. I didn't know him well enough to choose the right words, but I was sure I'd be able to wound him anyway. I'd go after his friends, say that he was betraying them or that he was a coward - Gryffindors often reacted poorly to any insult to their supposed courage.

A loud, braying laugh broke through my incensed thoughts. Lucy. I looked automatically towards the source of the sound, my temper dissipating as I saw my sister sticking quills in her hair and, I assumed, performing her best imitation of a chicken for a slim, pretty girl with white-blonde hair.

She must have felt my eyes on her, for she turned, the quills dropping from her pale hair, and waved when she saw me. Then she saw the bloke sitting next to me, and her eyes widened.

I hurriedly turned back to the source of trouble and muttered, "Actually, forget what I said. Thanks."

Then, hastily scooping up my experiment log and shoving it into my bag, I wrenched myself from my seat and walked quickly out of the library.

As I stormed through the corridors, a gaggle of giggling girls approached me.

"Willa Thorne?" they asked.

I paused, shooting them an impatient look. "What?" I snapped.

The one in front, a strawberry blonde with large, bright blue eyes, blinked. "We heard you sell Amortentia," she whispered, excitement gleaming in her eyes.

My scowl deepened. "I don't sell _Amortentia_. I sell Essence of Aphrodite."

The girl exchanged glances with her posse. "Well, does it do the same thing?"

I considered hitting them with a fast-acting sleeping draught, but before I could seriously weigh the possible ramifications, the girl rummaged in her bag before triumphantly withdrawing a handful of shining galleons.

"We can pay," she continued.

I paused, considering the glinting coins. Those could pay for the Doxy eggs I needed to complete Euphoria #2.

Grabbing the girl's wrist, I tipped the coins into the pouch I kept for business transactions and discretely activated the small device in my pocket.

"Name, House, and year?" I inquired, flipping open my log to the love potions section.

"Meredith Thomas. Gryffindor. Fifth year."

Ah, a Gryffindor. That was rare - I had few Gryffindor clients to begin with and even fewer since the whole dining hall debacle. Still, I wasn't going to turn down good business. I recorded the name and House before snapping the log closed.

"This is so exciting! I'll - _we'll_ \- finally get Si-"

I held up a hand, silencing her eager gushing. "No names." The less I knew, the better I could plead innocence if they got caught.

"I'll arrange a drop off of three Essences of Aphrodite in your dorm by the end of the month; it takes time to brew, and an incomplete brewing will result in the immediate death of the recipient. Put a strand of your hair and the intended target's in the potion to activate it. Do not use all three at once - at least not on the same person. Unlike Amortentia, it will not result in obsession. You will notice a gradual increase in attention and affection. The effects last two weeks, so this quantity will be enough for six weeks. And, remember, if you disclose the source of the potions to _anyone_ , I will ruin you."

Meredith blinked at the last bit, clearly not certain if I was joking or not.

I smiled blankly before leaning in conspiratorially. "Meredith Thomas, if you cross me, you will wish you never attended Hogwarts. I control more than you can ever imagine," I whispered. Then, leaning back, I said primly, "Nice doing business with you."

I left the Gryffindors to their planning, humming softly to myself as I walked back to the Slytherin Dungeon.

The Slytherin Common Room, while not as homey as the Hufflepuff Basement or Gryffindor Tower, was the perfect spot for business transactions. It was there that I'd proven myself a worthy opponent. When I was first Sorted into Slytherin, my parentage had caused a slew of nasty remarks. I'd eventually stopped the attacks with a combination of well-concealed Pompion Potions and bribes of skin care and sobering potions.

I slid into my usual spot on the couch closest to the door, propping my feet against the elegant mahogany coffee table.

Opening my log book, I added "begin brewing Essence of Aphrodite" to my list of assignments for tonight's lab session.

A seventh year with greasy dark hair slid next to me, gazing at me with sullen black eyes.

I closed my book and eyed the boy carefully. Severus Snape was the only student at Hogwarts who could potentially pose a serious threat to my business. Snape was - admittedly - extremely talented at brewing Potions and, although I'd never gone head to head with him (not that I knew what form that contest would take, as, well, how _did_ one compete with Potions?), I knew he possessed a comparable skill level. Luckily, he'd never shown any interest in opening his own potions business, instead choosing to concentrate his efforts in pursuing his Death Eater ambitions and, more secretly, a pretty Gryffindor seventh year.

"What do you want, Snape?" I asked finally.

He shrugged. "Still wasting your time with love potions?" he said dryly, nodding towards my log book. I kept my face blank, making no move to conceal the book; the more attention I drew to it, the more intriguing it would seem.

Instead, I shrugged loosely. "It pays for my other experiments," I said.

His eyes gleamed, and I immediately regretted my words; I guarded my endeavours vehemently, and I did not want Snape of all people sniffing around.

"Do these other experiments possibly involve helping the Dark Lord's cause?" he asked.

I narrowed my eyes. "Yaxley's already approached me about that," I said shortly.

Snape blinked, shifting slightly. I spotted a reddish stain mottling his sallow cheeks. Ah, so he wasn't quite in the inner circle yet. He was probably hoping to endear himself by roping me in.

"Why don't you provide the potions? I hate to admit it, but you're almost as good as I am," I said.

He scowled. " _Almost_ as good?"

I shrugged. I actually had no idea whether I was any better, but I couldn't let _Snape_ know that.

Finally, he looked away, muttering, "I don't have your established infrastructure or the means to mass produce the potions. Besides, _I_ help the Dark Lord in other ways. My talents are more diverse."

I stifled a worried frown. What did he mean by "more diverse"? Had he guessed at my inability to cast spells? I'd kept my failures closely hidden, as my poor grades in Potions served to mask my natural incompetence in all my other subjects. As long as my Housemates believed I was purposefully choosing to remain behind in every one of my classes to avoid detection, I was safe.

"What talents?" I asked casually.

He looked at me, his hooked nose jutting proudly in the air. "Did you see Potter's knickers last night?"

His _what_? I hadn't even met the bloke until yesterday; how would I have seen his knickers?

Snape was looking at me oddly. "Remember? In the dining hall?"

Oh. _Oh_. As a Slytherin, I should have stayed for the duration of the skirmish, especially considering that I had been the impetus for the whole conflict.

"Yes, of course," I lied smoothly. "Brilliant, really. I assume you're the one responsible?"

Snape nodded, his mouth curling into a satisfied smirk. "Yes, I invented that spell myself. You have to say _Levicorpus_ and wave your wand like so," he said, demonstrating the movement.

I nodded, watching his movements with exaggerated care. Obviously, I wasn't about to be casting this spell any time soon, but perhaps I could use the information later.

Satisfied that I'd shown enough admiration, Snape got to his feet.

He turned slightly, saying, "Remember, if you change your mind-"

I nodded. "I'll let you know," I said, keeping my voice void of any inflection.

I waited until he'd vanished up the staircase leading to the boys' dormitories before carefully recording Snape's spell in the log book. I might be able to sell the information at a later date.

The Common Room was rapidly clearing as students headed towards the Quidditch pitch. I was about to leave as well (not for Quidditch, of course, but to check on my latest batch of Numbing Balm) when a slim form slid into the seat beside me.

I turned, my face carefully expressionless as I observed Valencia Parkinson's casual repose.

"Yes?" I asked.

Valencia studied her nails. They were painted a rich, dark red-purple and contrasted nicely with her pale, elegant hands.

"So, I notice you left the dining hall yesterday," she said, just low enough that only I could hear.

I stiffened. "I couldn't risk drawing more attention to myself," I said stiffly, watching her warily from the corner of my eye. I didn't trust anyone other than Lucy, but I was even more vigilant when it came to dealing with my Housemates. I didn't doubt that any one of them would eagerly take over my business if they discovered my recipes or sensed any weakness.

"I figured that was it. It couldn't have been unwillingness to support your Housemate, of course. That would be foolish, considering all of Slytherin House was willing to risk expulsion to defend you," she said lightly, picking at nonexistent lint on her soft cashmere sweater.

I arched a brow. "Of course not," I murmured. "That would imply disloyalty, and Merlin knows a disloyal Slytherin is not a Slytherin at all."

She looked at me finally, fixing me with a shrewd gaze. "Indeed," she said.

She smiled abruptly, nudging my leg with her bare foot.

"Come on, Willa. Smile. You're not under interrogation," she said, not unkindly.

I rolled my eyes. "I never smile," I said.

She nodded, the picture of severity once more. "That's what I like about you," she said. "You know how to get things done." She uncurled herself from the couch gracefully. "You coming to the Quidditch game?"

Shaking my head, I said, "No, I have a timepoint to make."

I waited until she left before letting out a long breath. I was never quite sure where I stood with her; sometimes Valencia acted like a friend (albeit a very dangerous one), and at other times I was convinced her life's mission was to bring me down.

I surveyed my once-private couch, sighing inwardly. It looked like I needed to find another place to rest; two unwanted visitors in the span of an hour was two too many.

 **AN: Thanks for reading! Let me know what y'all think :)**


	4. Hooked on a Feeling

**Hooked on a Feeling**

When I went down for a belated lunch later that day, the hall was blessedly empty of all but a few students. I'd seen a steady stream of students head towards the Quidditch pitch earlier that morning, so I'd known it was the perfect time to eat peacefully.

Ignoring the scattered students (five Ravenclaws all deeply engrossed in study), I grabbed a hearty helping of shepherd's pie and, flipping my log book open, began listing possible potion ideas. Cerebral capacity enhancing potions were always popular, and demand would skyrocket once the N.E.W.T.s came along this spring. I paused, tapping my quill against my chin.

N.E.W.T.s. represented the culmination of one's education, a signal that one was ready to enter the adult working world. It affected everything from job placement to lifestyle. I'd always assumed that I'd continue the same self-sabotage tactics, but now that I considered the subject more, why should I? By that time the year would almost be over, and I wouldn't need to continue my charade any longer. Besides, if I wished to appeal to future investors, I needed some way to prove that my charade had been, well, a charade and not the product of stupidity.

My eyes fell on my wand, which rested inertly beside my plate, and I stiffened automatically. Ah. That was why. Perhaps I _was_ proud; I didn't want to admit that even if I tried I would be unable to score any higher than a D in all subjects save those that didn't rely on wandwork.

Besides, did I need stellar or even average N.E.W.T. scores to have my business succeed? True, investors would be more likely to give if they thought I was a genius, but as long as I received an O in Potions, shouldn't that be enough? I'd have to start ramping up my potions performance at some point, though - not too rapidly to draw attention, of course, but I did need to start getting grades better than T if I didn't want my O on the N.E.W.T.s to cause suspicion.

My thought trail was abruptly halted when Lucy dumped herself into the seat beside mine.

I stared at her, my potato-laden fork suspended halfway between the table and my mouth.

"Why aren't you at the Quidditch match? Isn't Hufflepuff playing?" I asked. I had no idea if Hufflepuff was playing, but I figured I had a decent chance of being right.

Lucy shrugged. "I'll catch the last half."

My brow furrowed. While my sister certainly wasn't Quidditch-crazed, she rarely missed a social event.

Well, she would tell me why she was here soon enough. I turned back to my log, adding "sleep substitute" to the growing list.

"Merlin, Willa!" she finally exclaimed.

I sighed, swallowed my last bite of my food, and turned to her. "What?" There went my chance at having a peaceful meal.

She looked at me disbelievingly. "Come on, even you can't be that oblivious! Do you really have no idea why I'm here?"

I sniffed. "I am _not_ oblivious. If I were oblivious, do you think I could have cultivated a completely clandestine potions bus-"

She waved her hand impatiently. "Yes, yes, I didn't mean it like that. I _meant_ , why in Merlin's beard were you and Remus Lupin huddling in the library together?"

I blinked. "Who?"

She stared. I stared. Really, we were the epitome of ideal familial communication.

"Remus Lupin. The Gryffindor," she said flatly.

"Oh," I said, turning back to my log book. Perhaps I ought to expand my line of calming draughts; I could think of at least one person in dire need of one. I glanced at my sister again. Her pale eyes were almost feverish with excitement. Yup. I should definitely expand my line. I made the note, humming softly as I began listing the ingredients I would require.

Lucy groaned. " _Oh_? Willa, Remus Lupin, besides being bloody _beautiful_ , is one fourth of the most outwardly Gryffindor bunch in the school. Everyone knows who he-"

She paused, fixing me with an intent look. "Were you trying to recruit him for your business?"

I shook my head. "No, he seems like the moral type. He'd turn me in."

She nodded, pursing her lips. "True, but he does seem to allow his mates to get away with everything," she mused.

"Lucy, don't you have a Quidditch game to get to?" I said bluntly.

She pouted. "Fine, fine, I can take a hint," she said, getting to her feet.

I watched her flounce away, shaking my head when she paused to smile flirtatiously at one of the Ravenclaws.

When she'd left the Great Hall, I grabbed my log book and approached the same Ravenclaw, casually seating myself beside his heavy tomes.

"Chang," I greeted quietly.

The seventh year, without glancing over, slid a frosted glass canister across the table. I slipped it smoothly into my pocket.

"There are two there, but unfortunately the supply will have to be stopped for the next month or so. Kettleburn's becoming suspicious," he muttered, still staring intently at his Transfiguration text.

I frowned. "Noted," I said finally.

He peered at me from behind wire-rimmed glasses. "I also looked into the collapsible pellets," he whispered.

I perked up. Tired of carrying bulky glass vials around, I'd asked Jasper to look into easily transportable microcontainers that disintegrated upon abrupt impact. Besides being my main contact in Ravenclaw, Jasper Chang earned the highest marks in Transfiguration and had a keen mind - if anyone could engineer a new potion delivery system, it was him.

"And?" I prompted.

"I've created a prototype, but it's hard to find that crucial balance of making them durable enough to withstand accidental jostling yet sensitive enough to burst open upon impact. I considered tying them to one's magical signature - that way they'll burst with a surge of magical activity - but that was too unpredictable. I accidentally destroyed the whole lot in my sleep - bad nightmare," he whispered, his dark, hooded eyes assuming a haunted expression.

Speaking of nightmares - I reached into my pocket and slipped him six vials of Dreamless Sleep.

"Six? You only owe me five."

I nodded. "You deserve the extra one; thanks for all your work."

He flashed a grateful smile, pocketing the vials quickly. "It's a fascinating challenge, really. I'm going to owl my father - he's a Muggle bioengineer, but the methods of thinking are similar - to see if he has any ideas," he continued.

"Great," I said, stepping away from the Ravenclaw table. "Let me know if there are any further developments."

I exited the dining hall and headed directly towards my laboratory. I had three batches of Essence of Aphrodite to prepare for the Gryffindor, and the frozen Ashwinder eggs Jasper had given me would thaw quickly if I didn't store them soon.

I entered the Room of Requirement and, gazing happily at the rows of bubbling cauldrons, immersed myself in the comforting world of Potions.

xxxxx

I encountered the Head Girl much in the same manner that I had encountered the Head Boy in. In other word, I crashed right into her. Merlin, I was suffering more clumsy mishaps than ever before. This time, though, the fall wasn't my fault - not that it made my arse any less sore.

Head Girl had blustered out of the library's double doors just as I was entering them. Head Girl fell down, I fell down, much outraged yelling was to be had (from her, of course; my yelling was internal). I scowled down at our tangled limbs, more annoyed than anything.

Head Girl was the redhead Slughorn was so boastful of, and she was admittedly not undeserving of his praise; in fact, she took one whiff of my bat spleen-stained robes (an essential ingredient in Babbling Beverage, one of the potions I was studying for my line of joke products) and said through a mouthful of my robes, "Baw-shpeen? Wha' oo 'oing with tha'?"

Her words were, of course, muffled by my robes, and I pretended not to understand her question. Instead, I tried to think of a way to untangle myself. Her long, wavy red hair was caught in the metal clasp of my messenger bag, and my wand was somewhere among her spilled books. Besides that, my knee ached horribly where I'd banged it against her nose, although it seemed as if she'd gotten the worse end of the stick there - already her nose was starting to swell angrily.

I had a potion that could fix that easily, but something told me she, like the Lupin bloke, wouldn't entirely approve of my business (or the source of most of my ingredients). Speaking of potions - I had a glass vial of modified Babbling Beverage in my pocket. I'd altered the formula to be, like most of my potions, activated instantly upon contact with a human being. If that vial broke on my body...

I shifted carefully, wincing as my knee protested with a loud creak, just as the library's doors swung open once more, revealing (who else?) Head Boy and his merry squad.

If my face were more expressive, it would be displaying an almost-comical expression of outrage. As it was, I was famed for my indomitable "poker face," and all Head Boy saw was a sullen Slytherin accosting his precious Head Girl.

In other words, I soon found myself (again) at the end of his wand.

"STOP MOLESTING MY LILY!" he bellowed, and the dark-haired bloke beside him whipped out his wand as well. Brilliant.

Head Girl muttered something from underneath my cloak that sounded suspiciously like "Sod off, Potter, I'm not _your_ Head Girl." Head Boy pretended not to understand. Ah, well, at least we had that in common - not that it endeared him to me. At all.

The short one was staring eagerly at us, his beady eyes gleaming as he drank in our intertwined position. Creep.

I wondered distantly where the other one - Lupin - was. He seemed the most sensible of the lot, and this situation would benefit from at least one more level-headed person.

I tried to remove myself from Lily's stomach once more, but the sudden, white-hot pain sparking from my knee stopped all movement. At least the movement shifted my robe from Head Girl's face, as she sucked in a grateful breath before snapping, "Levitate her off, you dolt!"

Head Boy blinked sheepishly. "I was going to do that, Lily darling," he said.

Seeing her glare, he hurriedly waved his wand at me, levitating me roughly off of Head Girl. I wheezed at the sudden movement, seeing stars, and let out a strangled yell when he deposited me none-too-gently on the hard stone floor. I heard a crisp tinkle as the glass vial broke in my pocket, the shards piercing into my side, and had a moment to think blearily that, well, at least it hadn't been anything lethal.

The library door opened once more, revealing an exasperated-looking Lupin ("What is _going on_?"), just as the potion gripped my tongue with a mighty wrench.

Right. This should be fun.

"I HAVE CHEER YES I DO. I HAVE CHEER WHAT 'BOUT YOU?" I bellowed from my curled position on the floor, cursing myself for having made the potion so powerful. Maybe I shouldn't have added that extra ounce of bat spleen - this much power was far too much for anyone to handle.

"What's wrong with her?" I heard Dark and Hostile mutter as he lowered his wand slightly, his lips curling into a sharp smile.

"WE ALL LIVE IN A YELLOW SUBMARINE. A YELLOW SUBMARINE. SUBMARINE SANDWICHES ARE A DISGRACE TO HUMANITY."

Fuck. If I kept spouting Muggle references from my childhood, they were bound to catch on at some point. I could only hope that they were all Purebloods and thus wouldn't get any of the references.

Head Girl, who had managed to pull herself up (while thoroughly ignoring Head Boy's offered hand), stared at me in abject horror.

"CH-CH-CH-CH-CH-CH-CHEERRRYYY BOMB!"

Fuck.

"Dear Merlin," she whispered, recognition dawning on her bright green eyes. "She's _Muggleborn_?"

 _Fuck_. That wasn't even _true_ \- at least not completely. I was technically a Half-Blood, but my mother's Squib status made my heritage even more questionable. Still, if they thought that I was _muggleborn_ , everyone would soon know, which meant the Slytherins wouldn't be able to continue ignoring my less-than-stellar heritage.

I threw a panicked glance at the Merry Four, but luckily they didn't seem to have heard Head Girl.

I tried forcing my mouth to spout benignly magical references, but for some reason the Babbling Beverage had unleashed a torrent of late 60's to 70's lyrics that could not be stopped.

"KEEP YOUR 'LECTRIC EYE ON MEEE BABEEE. PUT YOUR RAY GUN TO MY HEADDDDD!"

Dark and Hostile let out a short, barking laugh. "She's mental!"

I felt my cheeks burn, and, to my utter horror, felt tears burning in my eyes. Merlin. I was _not_ going to cry in front of the Gryffindor cheer squad. I tried hoisting myself up - if I couldn't stop the traitorous fountain that was my mouth, at least I could remove myself from the situation - but faltered when the combination of glass shards in the side and throbbing knee sent angry signals to my brain.

"I'M HOOKED ON A-"

I had to go. I had to go. My life - my _business_ \- was in danger. _I had to go._

I heaved myself upwards, weaving unsteadily, and braced myself against the wall.

"A FEELING!" To my horror, my blasted eyes began leaking tears, making my surroundings even more bleary than they already were. Bollocks.

"I'm taking her to the Infirmary!" I heard someone shout, but the sound was muted and sounded like it was coming through a distant tunnel.

"COME AND GET YOUR LOVEEE!" I managed, my throat hoarse, before slumping, unconscious, into someone's arms.


	5. Lily Darling

When I regained consciousness, I heard hushed whispers to my left. Scratchy, thin sheets covered me up to my chin and, from the clinical smell of antiseptic potions, I was in the infirmary. Despite my precarious situation, I felt a thread of excitement; perhaps I could finally get my hands on some healing potions for experimentation. The Willa Company didn't have a first-aid line yet, but I had plans to eventually expand into that area.

"-odd how the potion affected her immediately. It's obviously Babbling Beverage, but it usually needs to be ingested to take effect," I heard Madame Pomfrey murmur.

Oh no. I couldn't have Pomfrey suspecting someone was modifying potions (strictly illegal for Hogwarts students, as the consequences could be so dire). Keeping my eyes carefully shut (I'd perfected the art of feigning sleep back in second year; it was the best way to eavesdrop on conversations without sparking suspicion), I kept my breath steady as Pomfrey continued, "I suppose the potion's enhanced effect is due to its entrance into her bloodstream. The glass shards pierced her skin, allowing for the potion to enter her body immediately rather than diffuse slowly through her digestive system."

I smiled inwardly. I couldn't have thought of a better excuse.

"Is it possible that the potion was modified? Or perhaps it was poorly brewed and that inadvertently made the potion stronger?" I heard Lily ask.

I cursed her silently. Pomfrey had already created the perfect solution; why was she meddling?

"I'd be surprised if anyone save Slughorn himself could brew this potion without risking certain death; when combined with Lethe River Water, bat spleens give off a colourless gas that is lethal if not properly contained. Despite the difficult brewing process, this potion is readily available in joke catalogs. I'm sure that is where Miss…"

"Thorne. Willa Thorne," I heard a low, soft voice supply. How many people were around my bed? Merlin, if the whole Gryffindor cheer squad was circled around my bed, it was sure to garner some attention -

Although that was the least of my problems if they were convinced I was Muggleborn. I hadn't even tried to create a potion that could wipe memories, but perhaps I ought to start looking into that.

"-Miss _Thorne_ obtained the Babbling Beverage. She should be up any moment now. Just give her some of this Pepperup potion and she should be good to go; I've already patched up her knee and side."

I heard Madame Pomfrey move to the next bed.

"You can open your eyes now," Dark and Hostile said.

I froze; how had he…?

Well, there was no use continuing the charade. I opened my eyes slowly, my heart sinking when I saw that, yes, the entire Gryffindor cheer squad (plus one frighteningly-perceptive Head Girl) had encircled the thin infirmary cot. Merlin, this much red and gold made me feel like I was being bashed in the head with lion loyalty and/or courage and/or blah blah Gryffindor spirit blah blah etc etc.

Dark and Hostile folded his arms over his chest. "I've seen that trick a hundred times. Reg- someone I know used to do it all the time." Something unreadable - regret? - passed over his angular face, but in the next moment it was gone, leaving only hostility in its place.

Reg - Regulus? That was Lucy's former target, the one in my House. Dark and Hostile's brother was a Slytherin? You'd think that would make him more amenable to us and not so...well, hostile. Then again, perhaps he, too, suffered from House prejudices and resented his brother?

I surveyed the cheer squad, pausing briefly on the man to my right. Lupin's hand drifted towards my arm, almost as if he was about to touch it, before halting awkwardly. "Are you alright?" he asked finally.

I nodded distractedly, trying to peer between him and Dark and Hostile to make out the person lying in the cot to my left. I couldn't have anyone witnessing this bizarre interaction. Fortunately, the occupant appeared to be unconscious, and there was no one else in the ward.

Head Girl, who had been watching my movements with unsettling keenness, said, "Potter."

Head Boy jumped, his hazel eyes alight with eagerness. "Yes, Lily darl-er, Lily?" he amended hurriedly, probably remembering the hostile reaction his prior attempts at affection had caused.

I caught a flicker of something - fondness? - in Head Girl's eyes, but her tone was all business. "We're due for the Prefect's meeting now. Remus, are you coming?"

Lupin nodded, still eying me intently. If Lucy could see me now, she'd probably die of excitement (but not before spinning some entirely untrue tale of star-crossed, forbidden love), but the Gryffindor's gaze wasn't romantic in the slightest. No, it was assessing and sharply curious. I stared defiantly back at him, willing him to look away. Without breaking our eye contact, the Gryffindor plucked the amber bottle of Pepperup potion from the nightstand, and handed it to me carefully.

I took it hesitatingly, still eying the cheer squad warily. I wanted them to leave before anyone - any _Slytherin_ \- saw them near me.

I bent my neck awkwardly, staring at the standard bottle. The formula probably closely resembled my sobering draught, but I'd have to closely examine it to be sure. Maybe I could take half and save the rest for future study.

I looked down at my prone form and sighed. I wasn't about to take any of it if I couldn't even sit up.

To my surprise, Dark and Hostile took a firm hold of my left side.

"Peter, help me out," he said. The short one - Peter - grabbed my other side, and with their combined efforts I was able to prop myself against the uncomfortable metal headboard.

I nodded grudgingly at the two Gryffindors and, seeing that they weren't going to leave until I drank the potion (stubborn Gryffindor honour, I supposed), downed the contents, carefully leaving five centimeters at the bottom. I concealed the remaining potion with my hand, displaying the seemingly empty, now-clear bottle. I could feel the potion working, adrenaline surging through my body as my vision snapped into clear focus. Perhaps I could modify this formula and combine it with my sobering draught to create the sleep replacement potion. The real trouble was finding some way not to _mask_ one's need for sleep but to replace the requirement altogether.

The Head Boy and Girl made to leave, and Head Girl called, "Lupin?" over her shoulder when the tall boy made no move to leave my side.

"I'll meet you there," he said. They exchanged glances before nodding. Dark and Hostile glared at me; he obviously thought I was about to pull out my inner, bad Slytherin and attack his best mate. Here was what he didn't understand and what I had understood only after almost a full year of living with my Housemates: I was and would always be a Slytherin simply because that was who I was. There was no "Slytherin" switch to be flipped, no varying degrees of "Slytherin" to be had. Slytherin wasn't a branding. It was a simple fact of existence and did not inherently place me at odds with anyone else. To say that all Gryffindors ought to hate Slytherins and vice versa was like saying all women were at odds with men simply because they differed biologically.

"I'll catch up," Lupin said. Peter and Dark and Hostile nodded, the latter with reluctance, before following the Head Boy and Girl from the infirmary.

I stared at the Gryffindor, my eyes narrowed. "What now?" I said. "Why aren't you following your cheer squad out? I thought you guys planned synchronised exits for a reason - you know, to better frighten the nasty Slytherins."

I watched him carefully for any reaction to my words, but his expression remained stubbornly curious.

Bugger.

He withdrew a crinkled roll of parchment from the pocket of his dark, slim trousers. I recognised it as the Potions essay I'd begun in the library. So _that_ was where it had gone; I'd wondered where I'd left it.

I reached out to take it, but he moved his hand back quickly. I scowled. "Do you want me to fight you for it? What happened to Gryffindor chivalry? Do you really want to go against an invalid? Because I'll beat you, injuries or not. You're pretty thin; I could snap you like a twig," I said.

For some reason, this amused him greatly, and his yellow-green eyes flickered merrily.

"Mm. You can hit me with your pillow. I've heard those make great weapons," he suggested helpfully.

I opened my mouth to retort but, realising that we were dangerously close to _bantering_ , shut it quickly. I regained my sullen, indifferent expression, and he sighed, setting the essay down gently on the bed.

I made no move to grab it. He obviously had something to say, or he wouldn't still be here.

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. "Look, um, I couldn't help but read it, and, well, your ideas are go-uh, promising, but they could use some, er, fine-tuning. I could help you, if you'd like," he said.

I stared at him, carefully keeping my expression neutral. _Promising_. I'd written that the addictive properties of cheering draughts were due to the added "unicorn tail hairs, which everyone knows make everything super happy!" In fact, I could distinctly remember a passage arguing that cheering draughts weren't actually addictive at all - people merely kept taking them because they were "deliciously nutritious due to the hemlock fruit." Of course, hemlock was a small, highly poisonous flowering white plant that did not bear fruit and unicorn hairs were used to spark surges of magic, not euphoria. In short, the essay was 110% bollocks.

My ideas weren't promising. They were horrendous and, if I were in his place, I'd be wondering how to lock me up before my stupidity could offend humanity again.

Well, he obviously thought I was an utter idiot, but he was trying to be nice about it. At least this clarified matters - it wasn't interest that was keeping him here. It was pity, which probably stemmed from some misguided, naive sense of moral obligation to help the less fortunate. Although I'd already known the essay was horribly incorrect, I still found myself growing slightly offended over his pity. This offense soon bled into annoyance, which, of course, led to anger.

"And what, Mr. Lupin, are you implying?" I said icily.

He blanched. "Nothing! I just wanted to hel-"

"And why did you think I would want or need your help?" I interrupted. I could feel my pent up rage building in my veins, making my hands tremble and my vision blur. I'd suppressed it for so long, and here - _here_ \- was finally an opportunity to unleash it, to free myself temporarily of its shuddering grip -

He opened his mouth, and I held up a hand. " _No_ , let me explain, Mr. Lupin. You thought I was a poor, dumb Slytherin to be pitied. Oh, you're probably imagining that I'm _bullied_ by my mean Housemates, that they think I'm a disgrace to the House. Or perhaps you think I am indicative of generations of inbreeding or the result of a misinformed upbringing. Or, better yet, you, along with your foolish friends, may now be under the incorrect impression that I am a poor, poor Muggleborn stuck in a deadly House. Well, let me correct you, _Lupin_ ," I spat.

I could feel adrenaline surging through my veins, stemming not from the Pepperup potion but from my own limitless source of energy - my temper, my rage.

"You are under the mistaken impression that you must uphold some Gryffindor code of chivalry. You imagine yourself a hero, a kind person who helps those less fortunate than you. You traipse along with your crew of merry men, drawing the attention and envy of all. This attention? Know that it is hollow. Know that your very image is false, for I see you, Mr. Lupin. You help others only because you wish to help yourself."

I wanted him to say something, _anything_ , so I could judge my words' effect and adjust them accordingly. I was never more focused than when I was angry, for with the double-edged sword of rage came startling clarity. I could dissect each involuntary facial quirk, find meaning in even the most stoic of faces.

I watched as Lupin's stricken expression slowly shifted to anger and resentment before shuttering, his lips pressed thin.

I paused, breathing heavily, my hand encircling the bottle's neck in a choke-hold. My eyes flicked downwards to the small, dark red splotches on the collar of his white shirt. Blood, I realised with a start, feeling something entirely unpleasant burrow deep in my stomach. Had - had he been the one to carry me here?

Lupin turned on his heel and left without another word.

When the door closed with a startlingly final clang, I felt the first tendrils of regret take hold as my rage subsided. I'd done what I did best - inflict as much hurt as I could.

I sighed, staring blankly down at the fizzing remains of the Pepperup potion. Then, screwing my eyes shut, I downed the last of the burning liquid.


	6. Lucy's Theatrical Debut

**Lucy's Theatrical Debut**

The next few days passed without note. I struggled through Transfiguration and Charms, cursing my stubbornly useless wand. Strangely enough, I couldn't bring myself to look forward to Potions; memories of my essay and the fact that I shared the class with the Gryffindor seventh years soured my eagerness.

Instead, I threw myself into brewing my potions, churning out another batch of Dreamless Sleep for Valencia and Jasper. Meredith Thomas's Essence of Aphrodite was also coming along nicely and was due for completion in another two weeks. I'd even managed to make another advancement with Euphoria #2; the minced Doxy eggs, once strained with Honeywater, blended nicely with the dragon liver. The potion still didn't have the rapid burst of joy I wanted it to have, but at least it had made me smile - a difficult feat these days, for my prior outburst haunted me more than I cared to admit.

The more I recalled my words, the more shame I felt. All those times I'd suppressed the urge to lash out were rendered moot with one single vanishment of self-control. Merlin, he'd only been trying to help. He hadn't deserved my anger. No one did.

Still, I couldn't apologise; that would only draw more attention, and as it was, my outburst was a blessing in disguise. Although it had thoroughly earned the Gryffindor cheer squad's enmity, it had also squashed their curiousity. My Housemates were satisfied, my business was thriving, and I...I felt torn.

It wasn't like I owed him anything. Besides that one, pity-fueled offer, he'd done nothing to aid me. Even the return of the journal had been sparked by guilt. I hardly knew him, yet still I felt remorse.

On the third day of my work-fuelled fervor, Lucy barged into the Room.

I looked at her blearily before turning back to the bubbling cauldron. Although I'd brewed the standard love potion antidote dozens of times - I always took care to replenish my supply whenever I sent out another batch of Essence of Aphrodite - I was having difficulty making this batch. The violet, gritty potion was refusing to turn blue and smooth. I'd tried everything; I'd even added a chunk of my own hair, which often provided the necessary burst of magic needed to tame even the wiliest of potions. Now I was missing a sizeable clump of hair on my left side and I was still left with an unusable potion.

In short, I was feeling frustrated and, once again, dangerously close to lashing out.

"Willa! I have not seen you in three days!" Lucy said accusingly. "Have you even been eating?"

I waved her off, glaring down at the potion. Maybe it needed more hair. I grabbed my dulled silver knife - I'd need to sharpen it soon - and brought it close to my hair, switching to the right side after a moment's consideration. Might as well make the mutilation symmetrical, I reasoned.

Lucy grabbed my arm and wrenched the knife away with a surprising feat of strength.

"Willa Thorne!" she snapped, pointing the knife menacingly towards me. I blinked again, my fatigue coming back with a vengeance. I hadn't even returned to the Slytherin common room; I'd been too busy brewing my potions. Speaking of which...my gaze trailed back to the cauldron, and Lucy scowled.

"AGUAMENTI!" she bellowed, jabbing her wand in my direction. A spray of ice-cold water hit me squarely in the face, splattering onto my stained robe and into the cauldron.

I yelped, trying in vain to block the spray with my hand.

"MERLIN, LUCY! YOU'RE GOING TO RUIN THE POTION!" I shrieked.

She stopped the spell reluctantly, but it was too late; I estimated that a full pint of water had fallen into the love potion antidote.

I closed my eyes, ready to give up on the whole bloody batch, when the scent of a salty sea breeze swept through the air.

Wha-?

I quickly stirred the potion, watching in amazement as the once-gritty potion gradually smoothed, paling in colour to a serene blue.

"Dear Merlin," I breathed, my mind whirling with the possibilities. The water had obviously provided a more potent boost than my hair had, although that could be because I was practically a Squib. Could any water cause the same effect, or did it have to be water produced from a wand? I would hypothesise that it was the latter, but I wouldn't know for sure without further experimentation.

My hair was still drenched with the water, and I caught a stray drop in the palm of my hand. I swiveled towards the small copper cauldron burbling in the corner of the room and, careening past my confused sister, unceremoniously began wringing my hair into the dull orange contents.

"What are you doing?" I heard Lucy ask.

"I don't know!" I shouted back, my voice a bit crazed. Still, Euphoria #2 was gradually brightening, the dull, brown-orange colour intensifying to a saturated neon yellow dappled with orange. The texture had changed as well; the potion, which had once been the consistency of watered down oatmeal, now appeared in airy, voluminous clouds of mist swirling densely at the bottom of the cauldron.

I scooped a vial into the mist, clamping my hand over the top to prevent the potion from spilling.

Lucy walked to my side, peering dubiously into the cauldron. "You're - you're not going to just _drink_ that, are you?" she said.

I blinked at her. "Of course I'm not going to _just_ drink it," I said. "I'm going to record the appearance."

Lucy nodded, exhaling in relief.

"Then," I continued, my eyes still fixed on the beautiful, beautiful contents, "I will drink it."

Ignoring her protests, I scrawled a quick description of its appearance in my log book before lifting the vial to my lips.

"Cheers!" I said. Then, without further delay, I downed the contents, feeling the airy liquid slide smoothly down my throat.

I felt it spool in my stomach, provoking an odd but not unpleasant tickling sensation, almost as if the softest of feathers were lightly brushing my insides. Lucy looked at me worriedly, her hands clasped before her. I shrugged, disappointment making my mouth sour. "I guess I was wr-"

My mouth snapped closed as my eyes widened, my pupils dilating. The mild tickling had increased exponentially, surging an emotion so intense that it could only be called _rapture_ through my brain. I gasped, my knees buckling, as the colours in the room intensified, my throat tilting back as I let loose a wild, unrestrained laugh. I felt as if pure, unadulterated _ecstasy_ was poring, golden and thick, from my skin, from my hair, from my lips. I felt _alive_ , I felt - I felt -

"Euphoria," I whispered, my face alight with joy. Lucy still looked worried, and I giggled, pulling her into a quick, tight hug.

Curiously enough, I felt none of the lingering rage I always felt simmering in the back of my head. Instead, I was...light, free.

I was _free_!

I laughed again, grabbing my little sister's hands and dancing around her. She still looked hesitant, but at least she was smiling tentatively.

I had to share my joy with everyone!

I yanked open the door, stumbling into the empty corridor, and fairly leaped down the hallway. I didn't know why I'd spend the last few days isolated; I was _alive_ , and that was reason enough to be overjoyed! I skipped down the flights of stairs, bypassing several shocked first years, and burst through the double doors leading into the dining hall.

I was going to _seize the day_ and feast! After all, every day warranted a glorious consumption of sweet, wonderful food!

I careened through the room, pausing by the Ravenclaw table to yank the horror-stricken, shrinking Jasper from his stack of books. Sweet, clever Jasper. He suffered from the same problem I had - he was far too withdrawn. He was missing out on the beauty of _life_!

The Ravenclaw was staring at me with concern, his dark eyes wide beneath his lowered brows, and I laughed again. How had I not noticed his beauty before? No wonder Lucy had winked at him - he was beautiful! I gazed around the silent room, fairly fluttering with pleasure. In fact, _everyone_ was beautiful.

I was struck by a sudden thought; I would have to hug every single one of them. It was the only way to begin to express my joy at being alive!

I pulled Jasper into a tight hug, grinning when I felt him pat me hesitantly on the back. I hugged three more Ravenclaws before spinning away, finding myself standing eagerly before the Gryffindor table.

Oh, Gryffindors! I loved Gryffindors! They were so... _alive_!

Spying Head Girl - Lily! - I dashed eagerly towards her, my arms outstretched -

Four Gryffindors immediately stood before them, their wands raised menacingly. The one to James's right - Remus - bore a cold expression that looked distractingly out of place on his finely wrought face.

Still, I made no move to alter my course, and I saw Peter's mouth forming a spell, probably a cheering spell, I thought kindly -

"WAIT!"

I turned, still running, to see my beloved sister running towards me, her face an exaggerated mask of panic.

Maybe she wanted another hug - well, that was no problem! I had more than enough hugs for everyone! I turned swiftly, running towards my lovely, sweet sister -

Lucy, casting a panicked, assessing glance around the room, set her jaw and, rearing back, punched me squarely in the face.

I fell to the ground, tears welling to my eyes.

"THAT WILL TEACH YOU TO STEAL MY DATE!" she bellowed loudly, standing over my prone form.

I didn't feel quite so...happy anymore. In fact, the pain from my right eye was thoroughly dissipating any joy I'd previously felt. I pouted - poo, that was a pity.

"MAYBE NEXT TIME YOU'LL RESPECT MY SPELLWORK; I BET YOU DIDN'T LIKE THAT BEFUDDLEMENT CHARM, HUH? I HOPE YOU REMEMBER THIS LESSON!" Lucy continued.

Now that the potion's effects were fading, I could see her plan. Merlin, it was smart; I had no idea how she'd thought of it so quickly. With her quick thinking, I had a chance at surviving this encounter. I let my eyes flutter shut, pressing my face against the sticky floor. Dear Merlin. Dear, bloody, wretched Merlin. Okay, so Euphoria #2 could still use some work.

I rarely blushed. In fact, I could count the number of times I'd ever blushed on one hand. I had my dark complexion to thank for that. But now? Now I was convinced I was bright red, probably even the colour of a ripened tomato.

I pressed my face into the ground, wishing desperately to disappear.

Above me, Lucy was starting to embrace the part. "AND MAYBE NOW YOU WON'T SNOOP INTO MY ROOM AND STEAL MY STUFF! NOT EVERYTHING IS YOURS FOR THE TAKING!"

She spat, the spittle landing dangerously close to my nose.

Then she paused, stooping down to yank my hair.

"Er, sorry about the spit - got a bit carried away there," she whispered sheepishly into my ear before straightening.

"No, really?" I hissed. She had the nerve to pat my head, and I groaned. I was never going to hear the end of this.

"SO THERE!" she finished. "REMEMBER THIS - LUCY THORNE'S BEFUDDLEMENT CHARM IS NOT SOMETHING YOU WANT TO RISK RECEIVING!"

And...fin.

So ended Lucy's theatrical debut and so began my eternal humiliation.

* * *

After _that_ delightful incident, I hid in the Room again, even skipping my classes (not that it made much difference, given my abysmal marks). I couldn't face anyone. Although Lucy assured me that everyone she'd spoken to had believed the act ("They were tripping over in their haste to please me!"), I wasn't entirely convinced. Besides, the events of the night played on endless loop in my head.

I threw myself once more into my work.

I convinced Lucy to fill an empty cauldron with the water, which she'd only reluctantly done after much loud complaining (and after a promise of several chocolate frogs). The effort, however, proved futile; the water quickly became useless if it sat unused for more than three minutes and twenty seconds.

After several failed experiments with regular water from the tap, I concluded that my original hypothesis was correct. It needed to be water straight from the wand.

Although Lucy argued heavily against it, I began experimenting once more with Euphoria #2. Despite the admittedly...intense effects, I knew that I had a potential winner. Who didn't want to feel alive, to feel joy in its purest form? I just needed to figure out the correct ratio of potion to the witchwater, which I'd shortened to "WW" in my experiment log, to dampen the effects slightly.

So, under the watchful supervision of Lucy (and with the door securely locked), I ingested vial after vial of Euphoria #2.

To my great frustration, I couldn't find the correct ratio. Adding 100g of WW resulted in a potion that, while providing a surge of confidence and pure emotional energy, also left the drinker reckless and dangerously uninhibited. Adding 99g of WW resulted in a mellow cloud of contentment that only resulted in laziness. If I tried increasing the percentage of WW, the potion's effects immediately rocketed to the frighteningly potent characteristics of the original Euphoria #2. In other words, Euphoria #2 was either a passive sedative, a reckless liberator, or a dangerous emotional steroid. Of the three options, I deemed the middle the lesser of several evils.

The multiple trials required Lucy's presence, which meant a sizable portion of my profits went to buying chocolate frogs (why were the darn things so expensive? Not only was the base price excessively high, but I also had to pay some sixth year in Gryffindor an extra fee to get them; he apparently had some source that he refused to name).

Still, all this would be worth it once the product hit the markets. I stared at the softly glowing, pale yellow vial in my hand before slipping it carefully into my pocket. "Euphoria #2" didn't describe it quite as well anymore, but I'd grown rather fond of the name. After chugging these vials down nonstop for almost forty-eight hours, I could safely say that I was completely and utterly sick of feeling happy.

That was probably a blessing in disguise; I couldn't imagine I'd have much cause for happiness in the upcoming days. As I'd embraced my inner coward and refused to leave the Room, I still had yet to encounter my House. _That_ conversation ought to be interesting; I'd humiliated all of Slytherin in front of the whole school. Worse, I'd been seemingly _crushed_ by a _Hufflepuff_ \- worse, a Hufflepuff two years younger than I.

I couldn't hide forever. The Room, as amazing as it was, couldn't provide food, so I'd been living off whatever scraps Lucy could smuggle in. She'd put an end to that today ("I'm not your house elf!"), so it looked like today was as good a day as any to brave the outside.

I surveyed the rows of finished product situated at the far end of the room, my mouth a grim line. I'd have to pick my weapons carefully. I grabbed the small vial of Million Meter Walk I'd brewed yesterday (this was my first time brewing the fatigue-inducing potion since its development back in third year; I rarely brewed it because a) there was very low demand for a potion that made you instantly exhausted and b) a full-sized cauldron only produced one small, single-use vial) and tucked it into my pocket. Then, after considering the rows once more, I added a vial of Passion Plume. The emotion-enhancing potion was a risk; it would either aid my plan or incite all of Slytherin to bury me.

Despite my large robe pockets, the vials still clinked conspicuously against each other. I would have to walk carefully to avoid crashing into something and breaking the bottles - I had no wish to repeat the Babbling Beverage incident. I made a mental reminder to check up on Jasper's progress with the transportable pellets. A memory, brief and brutal, flashed through my mind, and I flinched. Merlin, poor Jasper; I'd practically strangled him in front of the whole school. Okay, modified mental reminder: 1) apologise profusely before 2) asking about the pellets.

I'd officially depleted a good portion of my stock, and my ingredient supply was running dangerously low as well. I'd have to go to Potions class soon to replenish my stock. I glanced at the ornate clock bolted to the wall. It was nearing the end of breakfast time, which meant that few students would be in the Common Room. At least I wouldn't have to face everyone at once - mob mentality was bloody terrifying.

Steeling my courage, I left the Room and descended the stairs.

I paused outside the unassuming stone wall, whispered, "Blood before water." The stone wall slid open with a grating rumble, revealing the dark corridor leading to the Common Room.

I shook out my shoulders, lifted my chin, and strode confidently into the dimly lit room, ignoring the stares and whispers.

I'd almost made it to the stairs leading to my dormitory when a burly fifth year blocked my path. I didn't recognise him, which meant he wasn't a customer.

"You've disgraced the House. The Hufflepuffs have been lording it over us for _days_ now - _Hufflepuffs_!" he said angrily.

I stared at him coldly. He was a good fifteen centimeters taller than I was, but I wasn't infamous for my frigid exterior for nothing.

Still, he didn't back down; as a Slytherin, he was used to intimidation tactics. We engaged in major power plays as soon as we passed the stone wall, sometimes even before we even reached Hogwarts. Slytherin was a dangerous home, full of pitfalls, yet the very nature of the peril meant everyone shared a bond formed on respect.

Excuses would get me nowhere. Instead, I said, "Ah, but it gives us a chance to put Gryffindor down for good."

I spotted Lestrange lounging in a nearby chair, his dark eyes intent on our conversation. I swallowed; I couldn't risk the enmity of the Death Eaters.

Burly crossed his arms, his muscles bulging. "How so?" he demanded, some of his prior hostility vanished. After all, mentioning Gryffindor was a sure way to unite Slytherins.

"Hufflepuff is high on their victory now. These emotions, the cheering of the school-"

"It's humiliating," Burly interjected.

I inclined my head before saying loudly, addressing the whole Common Room, which had fallen silent, "Are we not Slytherins? Are we not patient? We do not depend on instant gratification - we are not _Gryffindors_. No, we wait in the shadows, carefully nudging the dominoes one by one until they _all. Fall. Down_."

I hadn't been hexed yet, which was a good sign. Casually slipping my hand in my pocket, I uncorked the scarlet vial of Passion Plume. The hazy scarlet mist billowed out from my pocket, unnoticed in the dim green light of the Common Room. This was either going to work very, very well or end very, very poorly.

"How will they fall?" Burly asked roughly. I could see the potion had reached him; his dark eyes were fervent, thirsty for blood -

I smiled.

"We will slip them my patented Euphoria #2," I said, withdrawing the yellow vial and thrusting my hand into the air, making sure the softly glowing contents were clearly displayed.

I noticed a gleam of interest in Lestrange's eye, and, feeling encouraged, I continued, "You have not seen this potion before. I have only just completed trial runs of it, and I am more than satisfied with it. Imbued with a secret ingredient, this potion inspires pure bliss."

"And why would we want to make the Hufflepuffs happier than they already are? It's sickening," came Valencia's sharp voice.

A murmur of assent spread through the crowd.

I shrugged. "The potion doesn't just make you _happy_. It's courage and recklessness and, well, euphoria all in one. It makes you feel that you can get away with anything, that you are the most powerful person in the world."

"Liquid luck," someone breathed.

" _Without_ the tangible benefits," I said.

Valencia stared at the potion, a calculating expression in her eyes. "They'll think they can finally usurp us," she said slowly.

I nodded. "This beauty will incite them to attack. We will be ready, of course, for any trifle they try to throw our way...but we will continue the pattern I've begun. We will exaggerate our suffering."

I turned, making sure to make eye contact with as many people as I could.

"Why would we do _that_?" piped a first year.

"They become the bullies. The House structure is flipped on its head, and we will begin to sow the first seeds of dissension within their ranks. The annoying moral Ravenclaws who previously refused to ally themselves with us will be more willing to grant aid to the victims while the Hufflepuffs we do not target will turn against their own House. Even some Gryffindors will surely hesitate to attack us, if only for fear of ruining their heroic reputation. After all, it isn't very _honourable_ to attack someone while they're already down."

My thoughts flashed to one particular noble Gryffindor, and my stomach soured. "After all, you all know how infuriatingly honourable some Gryffindors can be. They'll have no choice but to think twice about allowing such blatant bullying."

Silence fell thickly.

"I've already laid the first stone. You all saw the...altercation with my sister. She, a seemingly innocent, harmless Hufflepuff, accosted a Slytherin in plain sight," I said. In revealing the truth behind my altercation, I was running the risk that they'd use that knowledge against me, but it was a gamble I had to take. Luckily, no one hexed me.

"You would have us act as weaklings," Burly said finally, but his eyes were thoughtful.

"Our prior tactics were getting us nowhere; we were stuck in a never-ending struggle. Now, at least, we have a chance at changing things," I argued. Plus, if the three Houses began thinking more kindly of Slytherin, I could expand my consumer base.

"And what happens at the end?" called a low, haughty voice. Everyone looked, as one, towards Lestrange, who untangled himself neatly from the couch. He stood lazily, approaching our huddle with oily ease.

"We stab them all in the back, of course," I said simply, allowing my lips to curve into a vicious smile.

Lestrange studied me for a long moment. "We will try this plan for two months," he said. "If it fails…"

I swallowed thickly; I knew what would happen next. "With all due respect, Lestrange, this plan is a long-term strategy. A month is insufficient."

He arched a dark brow, and I held my breath, feeling sweat drip down my back. "Alright," he conceded finally. "Three months."

Three months was hardly enough time to subvert hundreds of years' worth of reputation, but, judging by the look in Lestrange's eyes, he wasn't about to budge. I nodded stiffly, and he smiled coldly.

He turned to face the crowd and, raising his wand in the air, shouted, "To Slytherin!"

"To Slytherin!" the room echoed.


	7. Triple Element Migraine Relief

**Triple Element Migraine Relief**

After regaining my standing in the Slytherin House (and acquiring five more customers in the process), I began preparing the Room for the oncoming mass-production of Euphoria #2. Valencia obtained several bronze cauldrons - the potion didn't work if brewed in pewter - and Lestrange (somehow) produced a full dragon liver (fresh, no less). I knew these didn't come free - nothing did in Slytherin - but that was an obstacle I'd overcome at a later date.

For now, I needed to secure Lucy's service and that required chocolate frogs - a _lot_ of chocolate frogs. I'd tried producing WW myself, but I didn't possess the magic to make it potent enough. I also didn't want to risk bringing another person in - the fewer people who knew about WW, the better - so I was stuck scavenging for chocolate frogs.

This, of course, meant I was stuck looking for the frogs when I could be running my experiments. I'd arranged to meet my contact at the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw game later that evening, and I walked through the corridors as quickly as I could without attracting notice, following the stragglers as they made their way towards the Pitch.

Although I hated attending such a crowded event (especially considering I still got jeers thrown my way on a regular basis), it was a necessary evil.

I pulled my plain grey scarf closer around my robes, casually obscuring the emerald badge on my chest. Luckily, it was still chilly, so my scarf didn't look too conspicuous. A few soft clumps of snow drifted lazily down, a remnant of the waning winter season. I shivered, looking up. The sky was an odd yellow-grey, the colour of a sobering draught, and I could just make out a waxing gibbous moon through the thick clouds advancing from the north. The spring was slow in coming, and, while I was hardly superstitious, I feared the lingering winter boded ill.

The frost-encased grass crunched underneath my feet as I inserted myself in the middle of a throng of Gryffindor first years. I kept my head down as we passed the Slytherin stands, pretending to laugh along as a girl beside me joked with her friend. I followed them as they ascended the wooden bleachers, branching off as they turned to sit in one of the lower benches.

The floating, giant translucent spheres began to flicker, throwing rays of warm light onto the cheering crowds. The announcer announced the players on each team, his voice magically enhanced to reach every corner of the Pitch.

I walked up the steps as quickly as I could without drawing attention. Fortunately, the Gryffindors were too preoccupied with cheering to notice the lone Slytherin in their midst. I paused at the row second to the top and, glancing around, moved past four laughing sixth years to sit in the empty space to the right of a muscular blonde.

"Davis," I greeted, adjusting my scarf.

"YEAH, SMITH!" the boy bellowed, clapping enthusiastically.

I resisted the urge to check my wristwatch - 7:30 PM. I could be chopping Doxy eggs or adding the penultimate ingredient to my Essence of Aphrodite now.

"I need two dozen chocolate frogs," I said once Davis had calmed down. "As soon as possible."

He turned to face me. "Two _dozen_? Merlin, woman, how fast do you go through them?"

"Can you do it or not?" I said stiffly, smoothing my robes with slightly-numb fingers. I should have brought gloves.

I scanned the bleachers again, searching for any eavesdroppers, but they were groaning over a foul. Satisfied that no one was watching, I held a translucent vial of sobering draught out so Davis could see it.

Davis glanced at me distractedly, reaching over to slip the vial into his robes. "I'll have to check," he said. The crowd groaned again, and he scowled at the Pitch. "FOUL!" he bellowed.

"Check with _whom_?" I asked impatiently. Honestly, if I could just cut out the middleman from this business, the whole exchange would be much faster.

"J-" he began, eyes still fixed on the game. I watched him eagerly, ready to commit the name to memory -

Davis looked at me sharply. "I'll let you know by the end of the week, alright?"

The end of the _week_? I cursed him silently. I'd have to deal with the repercussions from Lucy later (she was a scary sight without proper sugary fuel), but what choice did I have? The next Hogsmeade trip was not for another three weeks, and I didn't want to go to Lestrange.

"When?" I prompted finally. "Friday? Saturday?"

I didn't get a reply; he was too engrossed in the match. Sigh. Quidditch. A blessing, as it opened the market for countless reflex enhancing and broom care potions. A curse, as it distracted people from getting down to business.

I gathered my scarf around my neck and stood, ignoring the disgruntled protests from the people sitting in the row behind, and made my way past the seated Gryffindors.

Well, at least the encounter had passed without a major alterca-

"Thorne!" someone shouted and, judging by the way my name was made to sound like the worst curse, it was not someone friendly.

I really needed to stop making conclusions prematurely.

I considered pushing past the last four Gryffindors and making a run of it, but I didn't want to draw unneeded attention.

I swiveled, keeping my expression carefully neutral. Head Boy and, surprisingly enough, Head Girl sat at the end of the top row, with Dark and Hostile and Short sitting to their right.

One person was conspicuously absent.

"Where's Lupin?" I asked before I could stop myself. Great. Now they were going to -

Dark and Hostile whipped out his wand, surging to his feet.

-do that.

Merlin, he was quick to draw his wand. Dark and Hostile was over twenty-five centimeters taller than I was on level ground, so with the added height of the extra step, he fully towered over me.

"Don't you dare say his name!" he said harshly.

Although my face didn't change, I felt guilt surging through my body. Merlin, as much as I'd like to write off Dark and Hostile's words as a product of his less-than-friendly personality, he was right - at least about this.

Head Girl took pity on me. "Remus has a migraine," she said, although the words were a bit cold.

I nodded at her, but she'd turned away pointedly.

Head Boy looked at me coldly. "Stay away from us," he said angrily.

The altercation was beginning to draw attention, and I realised with mounting fear that my scarf had shifted in the wind, revealing my gleaming badge.

Bugger.

I turned coolly away from the Merry Gryffindors and, keeping my head high, walked calmly down the metal bleachers.

"Bloody Slytherin!" I heard someone jeer.

"Did you come to hug all of us, too?"

I didn't react. Instead, I pushed past the spectators and, ignoring the flying players speeding through the air above me, left the Pitch.

Once I'd returned to the safety of my lab, I let out a long, shaking breath, sinking to the ground. I pressed my back against the cold wall and stared at my rows of cauldrons. This was the part where anyone like Lucy - or _anyone_ , really - would begin to cry. Logically, I knew that was the natural emotional response to days of guilt, stress, and attacks. Still, the tears wouldn't come. Perhaps there was, as Mother claimed, something fundamentally wrong with me. Perhaps it wasn't my anger that made me a monster - perhaps I simply _was_ a monster, emotions or no.

I sighed heavily, getting to my feet as I squashed that thought. This train of thought wouldn't further any of my goals. Instead, my gaze strayed to the neatly organised rack of ingredients, my eyes resting on the pale green shoots of Star Grass I'd purchased for my future expansion into first aid potions.

Perhaps there was a way to alleviate my lingering guilt. I jogged towards the far bookshelf, grabbing a well-thumbed copy of Advanced Potions Making. I flipped to the index, running my finger down the long list of potions, before pausing on one titled "Headache Reliever."

I turned to the page and scanned the ingredient list. I was in luck - I had all the necessary ingredients, although the potion would require using the last of my crushed Dittany.

I scanned the potion's description, frowning as I read, "cures mild headaches. Effects last for an hour." If Lupin was too ill to attend a Quidditch game with his mates, this simple potion wouldn't cut it. My fingers tightened around the book's spine. I needed to get my hands on a more specialised potions book; the standard seventh year N.E.W.T. curriculum book wasn't enough. That, however, was a task for another day.

I heard a faint whistling sound as the cauldron closest to my left let out a plume of translucent lavender-grey smoke. My sobering draught was almost ready, which was good - I figured I ought to speed up Davis's process with another well-placed bribe. Merlin knew the bloke needed them; I vaguely remembered Lucy mentioning something about the weekly, infamous parties in the Gryffindor Common Room. Demand for my sobering draughts always skyrocketed on those days - I'd modified them to target not only the throbbing mental pain but also the physical sluggishness that accompanied the mornings after particularly eventful nights.

Wait. What if I added the minced mint leaves and lavender from the sobering draught to the Headache Reliever? If I prepared the combined ingredients properly, maybe it could strengthen the potion's mental effects. I'd have to be careful, though; when Star Grass was heated past 40˚C, it expelled a noxious gas that could obscure vision for a minimum of twenty-four hours.

A pair of thick, sturdy round glasses clattered to the ground to my left. I grinned, grabbing the glasses and securing them on my face. I'd miss the Room once I graduated. Humming to myself softly, I began rubbing the Star Grass against a block of gold, careful to collect the shavings in a pewter dish.

I just hoped this worked.

* * *

The next morning, I stumbled out of the lab, slipping the still-warm potion bottle - which I'd tentatively dubbed "Triple Element Migraine Relief" - into my pocket.

Stifling a yawn, I made my way blearily down the stairs. I could hear distant chatter as students made their way to the dining hall for breakfast. My hair smelled strongly of lavender, and I briefly wondered if I ought to return to the dorms to bathe first.

I quickly scolded myself for the thought - Lupin might still be in pain this very second, and I wanted to rest? My gift wouldn't have nearly the same impact if I gave it to him after he'd recovered. If I wanted the Gryffindor Cheer Squad to stop pulling wands on me every time we met - thus drawing far too much attention - and my guilt to subside, I needed to do this now.

Besides, I didn't care what they - or anyone - thought of my outward appearance.

I entered the dining hall briskly and stalked to the Gryffindor table. The Cheer Quartet - and it was a quartet, again, I noted with some relief - was easy to spot; they were laughing the loudest, basking - or at least enjoying - the attention of their admirers.

Still, I noticed Lupin was even quieter than usual, and his normally golden-hued skin appeared sallow. Good - well, not _good_ , exactly, but at least it meant my potion wouldn't be unappreciated. I needed him to feel grateful to me if I wanted these excessively ill feelings to dissipate. Besides, good will - or at least tolerance - from the most outwardly Gryffindor bunch in Hogwarts would further help the grand plan of improving public opinion of the Slytherin house.

Ignoring the increasing whispers, I walked up to Lupin and tapped his shoulder.

He turned, his eyes widening slightly as he took in my harried appearance. Well, he didn't look any better - in fact, up close he looked downright wretched. Purple sleep marks stained the skin under his eyes, and deep creases had appeared between his angular brows. I could see the hollows of his cheeks, and his high cheekbones jutted out even more prominently than usual.

I swallowed thickly before banishing my nerves from my voice. "Lupin, may I speak with you for a moment?" I said lowly.

He hesitated. "You can speak with me here," he said finally.

Dark and Hostile, who had stopped Transfiguring his cup into a frog to listen, said bluntly, "What have you been doing? Rolling in lavender?"

He had a good sense of smell - I was at least two paces away from him. Tucking that information away for future use, I ignored his comment, my eyes not leaving Lupin's.

"I, er…" to my horror, my voice faltered. I wasn't used to apologising. My family was more of the "sweep it under the rug and pretend it never happened" sort, and apologies were admissions of a favour owed in my House, so I never apologised there either.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier," I said hurriedly, sweat dripping down the small of my back. These winter robes were too bloody heavy.

"Sure you are," Dark and Hostile jeered.

Lupin glanced at Dark and Hostile. "Lay off, Sirius," he said quietly.

Dark and Hostile - Sirius - rolled his eyes. "Your funeral, mate," he said and, shooting me one last glare, turned back to his cup.

"Anyway, I heard you were having headache problems, and I thought this might help," I finished quickly, dropping the potion into his palms.

He looked at it silently, his brow furrowing. "Where did you get this?" he asked finally.

"From the last Hogsmeade trip. I get headaches, too, and this works wonders," I lied smoothly.

He studied me for another long moment before nodding. He winced at the movement, rubbing at his temples. "Merlin, I'll try anything at this point," he said wearily.

"You can't be serious! I'm sure there's poison in there!" Dark and Hostile protested. Wrong. If there were poison of any notable potency in that potion, it would smell faintly of copper. Of course, I supposed the strong lavender smell might mask it, but then again lavender rendered most poisons inert. Besides, I would hardly give him poison in full view of the school. Merlin, the Headmaster was right across the room! No, I'd be more discrete. In fact, I wouldn't even personally deliver it. I'd send it through at least three intermediates, and even then I wouldn't let any of the middlemen know my identity.

Lupin shrugged. "You know me - I like to live dangerously," he said, his lips twisting into a wry smile. Then, with a single, fluid motion, he uncorked the potion and tipped its contents into his mouth.

I turned to leave, stopping when I felt a startlingly warm, almost hot, hand on my bare forearm.

Lupin stood from the table, moving forward to murmur against my ear, "You're forgiven. I know how...difficult it is to lose control."

Horrifyingly enough, the close contact sent a small - _small_ , mind you - shiver down my spine, which I later reasoned was the natural result of an unexpected invasion of personal space.

I stumbled away from the Gryffindor and fled the dining hall.


	8. Kick and Run

**Kick and Run**

After my disconcerting encounter with Lupin, I settled myself in a rarely traveled hallway and banged my head - gently, of course - against the wall. Best case scenario? The potion worked, Lupin and his crew of merry kittens were mollified, and I was free to resume my business in Gryffindor without having four wands pointed at my throat at every waking moment. Worst case scenario? Well, the Star Grass reacted poorly with my sobering draught and I now had one death on my conscience.

Of course, that was highly unlikely - Star Grass was only fatal if it had been planted on the night of a full moon, and my source was reputable. Probably.

Still, I couldn't help but feel uneasy. To distract myself, I hoisted myself onto a windowsill, the cool glass pressing against my back, and flipped open my Arithmancy textbook. I'd already skipped the past two classes, which meant I was far - _far_ \- behind and - even worse - Professor Vector was bound to be furious.

I traced the book's worn leather corner absent-mindedly. Potions, Herbology, Arithmancy - the three subjects vital to my business and, luckily, the three subjects which did not require extensive wandwork. Achieving marks just high enough to qualify for the higher level classes yet low enough to deter unwanted attention was incredibly difficult. Still, my string of unexcused absences fell firmly in the undesirable category. They drew attention, and with attention...well, I'd gone over this dozens of times already.

I'd just finished scrawling last week's homework problems on a fresh roll of parchment when a shadow fell over the page.

I shut the book as quickly as I could without drawing suspicion and looked up casually.

A tall Gryffindor with softly curling strawberry-blonde hair stood before me, her arms braced on her hips.

"Where is the Amortentia?" she demanded.

Ah. The love potion girl - Thomas, was it?

"Has it been a month?" I asked.

She paused before shaking her head vigorously. "No, but-"

"Funny, because according to the calendar, it's only been three weeks and a day. Now, unless the definition of a _month_ has changed, three weeks and one day do not make up a month."

She scowled. "Fine, bu-"

" _And_ didn't I tell you that _Essence of Aphrodite_ would take a month to brew?"

The Gryffindor had a comically stricken expression on her face - did she expect me to bow down and grovel? She may be a customer, but she was _not_ my superior.

"I could give you the potion now. Of course, that would result in the immediate death - at best - of the potion's recipient. You might try to blame the death on me. Your attempt will fail. Not for lack of trying, I'm sure - you seem the vindictive type - but for lack of _proof_. You won't find a single person willing to turn me in - they've purchased one too many sports-performance enhancing potions or one of the many other less than acceptable potions I carry."

"I'll find a Gryffindor. Any Gryffindor would jump at the chance to put a Slytherin down," she sneered.

I arched a brow. True, I hadn't yet - thank Merlin - had an opportunity to test my business's clout when it came to inter-House conflict. Still, I'd been very careful in selecting my clients in Gryffindor. I only sold scandalous or less-than-savory potions to Gryffindors. This ensured at least a moment of hesitation. An investigation would reveal each and every one of my clients - _and_ the products they'd purchased.

"Doubtful. But, let's say a miracle does happen and you tie me to my potions production business. Then this case becomes a matter of misuse of a product - you have directly disobeyed my clear instructions, thus absolving me of any responsibility. You go to Azkaban for life for the murder of a minor and I get off with a relatively light sentence. Then, of course, I use my contacts in Azkaban to make your imprisonment a living hell," I said coolly.

I didn't have any contacts in Azkaban, but she didn't have to know that.

"I'll say you didn't tell me anything. My friends will back me up," she said, looking more unsettled with each passing second.

I hid a smile - Merlin, this was too easy.

With an unhurried movement, I slipped my hand into my pocket and pressed my finger against the smooth, small object hidden within.

My low voice slipped out of the object immediately - " _I'll arrange a drop off of three Essences of Aphrodite in your dorm by the end of the month; it takes time to brew, and an incomplete brewing will result in the immediate death of the recipient. Do not use all three at once - at least not on the same person-"_

I clicked the recorder again, stopping the recording immediately. I thanked Jasper silently - I'd asked the Ravenclaw to design an easily concealed recording device back in third year as a means of preventing any attempt to weasel out of payment.

She reached for the device, and I stepped back nimbly. "Don't even think of tampering with this device. I have several copies hidden around Hogwarts and have instructed others to release its contents if I do not get in contact with them within a predetermined amount of time."

Thomas's face was deathly pale. "I - I never -" she stuttered.

I arched a brow.

After a long moment she said haughtily, "Just make sure you have the potion by this Friday."

She wheeled away and scurried down the corridor.

Having successfully deterred her attack, I transferred my attention back to the heavy Arithmancy textbook. I still had to make up the paper on the Wenlock Theory of Number Relativity, but since I'd missed the class on Wenlock's Hypotheses, I was woefully lost. I was hardly stupid, but even I could admit when I was over my head.

I half-heartedly began copying the formulas onto another roll of parchment, balancing the heavy textbook precariously on my left knee, before getting up with a huff. This wasn't doing me any good - I'd have to find someone in my class to ask for help.

As I shoved the book back into my bag, I tried to recall the names of the students in my Arithmancy elective. Unfortunately, none of them was a customer and, thus, I had no idea who they were.

Well, I'd just have to wait for the next class and ask then. Satisfied with my plan, I shouldered my bag and headed down to the laboratory to work on Thomas's love potion.

xxxxx

Two days after I gave Lupin the potion, Dark and Hostile approached me as I was heading towards my secret laboratory.

Hearing his light footsteps behind me, I quickly switched directions, arcing away from the tapestry marking the room's location and instead heading towards a large window in the adjacent corridor.

I peered innocently through the frosted glass, pretending to watch the Slytherin Quidditch team practice in the pitch below.

He paused beside me and, after hesitating for another moment, rested his forearms next to mine on the windowsill.

I suppressed a scowl; my reflex enhancing potion was due for another stir in another ten minutes, and if I missed that time-point I would have to redo the whole month long process.

I thought of and dismissed six different tactics to get rid off Black, ranging from dousing him in the experimental version of my Forget-Me-All potion to kicking him in the shins and running away. Seeing as the latest trial of my Forget-Me-All potion had resulted in a violent seizure and lasting hiccups, the first option was out. As for the latter...I assessed him quickly, noting his long legs and fit physique. I'd left my Strength in a Bottle potion in my dorm, so outrunning him was out, too.

Well, Lucy always said I was remarkably standoffish. Perhaps I could ward him off by simply being myself.

I ignored him studiously, turning back to the window. The seconds ticked by far too quickly, and I felt sweat dripping slowly down the nape of my neck. Why wasn't he taking the hint? Merlin, it had taken me two _months_ and several batches of sobering draught to obtain the necessary ingredients for this potion. The "kick and run" option was becoming more and more attractive by the second. Maybe if I kicked hard enough and in the correct location, he'd be debilitated enough for me to reach the side corridor and disappear. Then again, he was best mates with Potter, and the Head Boy could put my business in jeopardy if I hurt his friend.

He cleared his throat. "Thorne. I haven't heard of that name before, and, as a member of the most noble House of Black, I know all the Pureblood families." The words, which could have emerged as a boast from anyone else, only rang of bitterness.

I met his dark eyes squarely. I was tired of being judged for my blood, for my House. In a way, he was as bad as the Death Eaters - at least in terms of bias.

"That's because I'm not a Pureblood," I said matter-of-factly. I felt a slight pang of regret after the admission - the more people who knew, the more danger I was in - but I didn't think Black would spread the knowledge around. Somehow, I felt he understood the perils of Slytherin more than most Gryffindors.

He blinked. "But - you're a Slytherin," he finished lamely.

I looked away, resting my forearms on the window sill. "And you're a Gryffindor."

His mouth snapped closed as I continued, "My mother's a Squib, and I don't know who my father is. I'm also apparently evil and like the colour green and snakes."

I was only half-joking about the evil part. The Sorting Hat had obviously thought I was ruthless enough to warrant a Slytherin branding, thus dooming my business to a drastically smaller consumer base. Inconvenient, yes, but the contacts I'd made in Slytherin had been invaluable.

My expression soured as I remembered my Sorting. I'd had it all planned out; I would be in _Ravenclaw_ , a house which was both respected and neutral. From there, I could make contacts with intelligent business partners and reach out to all three Houses without fear of prejudice. Besides, Ravenclaw had always appealed to me. I loved inventing new potions, and what was more cerebral than that?

The stupid hat had ruined everything.

"Look, I-" he paused. "The potion worked. Moo - Remus is better than I've ever seen him before, and-"

I looked at him sharply. "These headaches are a regular occurrence, then?" I interjected.

His expression shuttered. "What makes you think that?" he said, straightening abruptly. A thoughtful look crossed his eyes, and he began to shift positions. He propped an arm against the cool window, slanting his body into a lazy slant. He tilted his angular face slightly to the side, his regal cheekbones showing in profile as the winter sun painted a golden halo on his silky hair. Was this supposed to impress me? Yes, he was attractive, but so were plenty of people. Did he expect a medal? What was it with Gryffindors and this need for external validation?

I looked at him blankly. "You said 'ever.' That implies repeat occurrences," I pointed out.

He scowled, slumping back down to his original position.

"So? You apparently suffer from headaches as well," he said.

I shrugged.

He sighed heavily. "Merlin, you're not making this easy. Anyway, I wanted to say that maybe I misjudged you. I'm sorry about that, at least," he said, sounding like he regretted approaching me.

Well, that was surprising. I nodded stiffly before turning back to the window.

I now had three minutes to get rid of him. I was readying myself to kick and run when he abruptly stepped away from the window.

"I've got to go," he muttered. Then, with a swift turn of his heel, he was gone. I stared after his retreating back, my brow furrowed, before quickly turning to peer out the window. He'd obviously seen something upsetting enough to make him leave in a hurry -

I scanned the Quidditch pitch carefully, but all I could see was a mass of flying black blurs, interspersed only by the occasional flash of emerald green. Snow began to fall in heavy flakes, further obscuring my view. After trying in vain to pick out anything of import, I huffed and jerked myself away from the window. I didn't have time to concern myself with his affairs; my potions were waiting.

I hurriedly scanned the empty corridor for any spies before practically running past the hidden door, thinking fiercely, "I need a place to brew potions. I need a place to brew potions. I need a place to -"

A dark wooden door appeared in the wall, and I escaped once more into my sanctuary.

 **AN: so sorry for the delay! School got the best of me. Thank you all for reading and please consider dropping a comment! :)**


	9. Chocolate

**Chocolate**

The slippery, viscous potion simmered fluidly in the silver cauldron. I carefully dipped a glass vial into the sinister liquid, using thick dragon-hide gloves to protect my hands. While Essence of Aphrodite wasn't as blatantly potent as Amortentia, it was still a force to be reckoned with and was easily one of the more dangerous potions I offered.

At its current, freshly-brewed state, a single touch against bare skin would be enough to induce severe feelings of affection that would latch themselves onto the first person I saw. I shuddered - Merlin, _that_ could be disastrous. What if Dumbledore or, worse, _Slughorn_ happened across the corridor?

Wanting to avoid vomiting in the potion, I quickly banished the thought from my mind. Some things were better left unconsidered. I corked the vial and filled the remaining two in the same manner, my hands sweating beneath the thick gloves.

After Thomas's bottles were sealed, I considered the remaining potion. I always brewed enough to fill one more vial than necessary to add to my stock. This time, however, I had the feeling I'd need it for a different purpose - not, of course, for my own use, but for emergency purposes. My standard love potion antidote worked on the broad scale, targeting general symptoms of affection - it lowered heart rates, calmed nerves, and induced feelings of apathy. This was usually sufficient in gradually countering Essence of Aphrodite's effects, but it wasn't enough to bring a rapid change. For that, I'd need to combine the antidote in a 1 to 1 ratio with a sample from the original brew.

Would I really need to sacrifice my sole vial of Essence of Aphrodite to the creation of a potent antidote that I might not even require?

I thought again of the rash, shrill Gryffindor and nodded grimly to myself.

I tipped a sky-blue vial of standard love potion antidote into the cauldron, stirred it two times counter-clockwise with my wand, and let the contents rest. It'd be ready for bottling in another hour - until then, I'd better deliver the love potion to Thomas before she threw another fit.

I slipped out of my laboratory and headed towards the Gryffindor Common Room. Ordinarily, I'd hand the shipment to one of my Gryffindor contacts - the less direct contact between customers and myself, the better - but I planned on using the opportunity to confront Davis about the chocolate frogs.

I tucked my cloak over the emerald and silver crest on my chest and pretended to examine a small painting just around the corner from the Fat Lady.

The painting's occupant, a lithe siren with a gleaming crimson tail, winked at me. She fluffed her golden hair and began swimming in graceful circles, sending sprays of incandescent bubbles up towards the clear sky.

I stared at her blankly, my attention focused on the empty corridor behind me. I just had to wait for a suitable group to insert myself into…

The siren scowled, miffed at my lack of appreciation, and, hopping awkwardly onto a rock cropping in the far right corner, pulled herself into the next painting over.

Three minutes later, a trio of laughing Gryffindors brushed past me. I waited for them to round the corner before hurrying after them, smiling and pretending to laugh along as we passed through the open painting.

Once safely inside the warm Common Room, I branched quickly away from the trio and headed towards the smiling girl on the farthest couch.

Thomas was surrounded by her posse again, and from the sounds of it, she was detailing her newest tryst. Her friends questioned her eagerly about his identity, but Thomas coyly brushed off the questions. Clever - she was setting the stage for her upcoming romantic development, which, with my potion, was sure to happen.

I sidestepped the giggling group, and, with a flick of my wrist, let the trio of glass vials drop gently into her lap.

I was already on my way out of the Common Room by the time she'd registered their presence. I didn't have time to wait for her reaction. Besides, I'd seen Davis leave just a moment ago, and I needed to hunt him down before the bloody weasel escaped again.

I really needed to find his source - or, better yet, find a way into Hogsmeade myself. I hated dealing with the middleman.

I stepped through the painting, ignoring the Fat Lady's cry of surprise, - "Oi! Who are you?" - and hurried after Davis.

As I was about to round the corner, however, a familiar voice called, "Willa?"

I paused, scowling as I saw Davis's cloak disappear around the corner, before shifting my attention to the same painting I'd examined before. Well, I might as well use this opportunity to cement my budding - well, not friendship, exactly, but tolerance - with Lupin.

The siren hadn't returned, which wasn't surprising - sirens were notoriously vain. My insufficient response had obviously offended her enough to leave the comforts of the water.

"What are you doing here?" Lupin asked.

I gestured at the painting half-heartedly. "Lucy told me this painting was her favourite. I wanted to check it out," I said, adding a hint of frustration to my tone. "But it seems to be empty."

Lupin frowned, leaning closer as he peered at the empty frame. He wasn't as wan as before - although faint, milky-blue shadows still stained the hollows of his angular cheeks, his pale eyes were once again bright.

"Huh," he said, "I've never seen her leave the painting before. Something must have spooked her."

I nodded. "Yeah, some first years were practising hexes here a few minutes ago."

I could feel his eyes on me, his gaze unwavering. I studied the painting for another moment before turning. "I guess Lucy appreciates the wat-"

"The potion worked wonders," Lupin said at the same time.

He paused, grimacing and waving for me to continue.

I shook my head. "No, you go on."

When he only gave me a doubtful look, I continued, "Seriously. I was only going to share a boring childhood anecdote involving Lucy and a large body of water."

He blinked, his lips curving into a lopsided grin.

"Well, now you have to share," he said.

"Lucy thought she could turn into a siren if she stayed in the water long enough. She stayed in the lake for a solid five hours; we eventually had to bribe her out with several bars of chocolate," I said.

"Chocolate?"

I grimaced. "She loves it. Honestly, the best way to get Lucy to do anything is to offer up a few chocolate frogs."

His expression grew thoughtful. "Interesting," he murmured, his yellow-green eyes distant.

I looked at him sharply. What was he thinking? My mind leaped to the most logical explanation. Lupin didn't seem the type, but Lucy had been hurt before - my hands clenched by my sides. I'd offered this information once before in a clumsy - it was one of my first experiences with business negotiation - attempt to secure the amity between myself and the Ravenclaw son of a major cauldron producer. The Ravenclaw misunderstood my words and approached Lucy soon after with a bundle of chocolate and an expectation for something she wasn't willing to give. Unfortunately, my sister's flirtations were often misinterpreted as a willingness to shag anyone who moved. Add that to her reputation as a naïve idiot and, well...

"She won't shag for chocolate," I said coldly.

His eyes widened, and I noticed detachedly that his left iris sported a dark amber ring around the pupil. "Merlin, Willa," he spluttered. He opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head.

"Merlin," he said again. "I-I'd never - what kind of person do you think I _am_?"

I looked at him unblinkingly. I wouldn't apologise for ensuring my sister's wellbeing.

When I didn't reply, Lupin groaned and, to my utter surprise, placed a startlingly warm hand on my left forearm.

"I'm sorry," he said simply.

What? He hadn't done anything - why was he apologising?

"I should have realised you wouldn't have said anything if you didn't have reason to do so. I promise you, Willa, if I even hear anyone insulting your sister, I will do something about it."

My pride didn't like that - it reared up in the pit of my stomach, urging me to say something disdainful - after all, I was more than capable of looking after _my_ baby sister. Besides, he may be a Prefect, but I had two thirds of the Prefects in my pocket and countless resources beyond that.

Still, his face showed nothing but solemn sincerity, and I'd worked too hard to repair the damage done after my last outburst. I bit my tongue and, mentally lashing my anger down with iron cords, nodded stiffly.

We both grew quiet, Lupin dropping his hand to face the painting once more.

What was he thinking about? His face was utterly unreadable. For some inane reason, Lucy's words resurfaced in my mind - bloody beautiful, she'd called him. I usually didn't notice a person's attractiveness or, if I did, I quickly dismissed it. After all, I was hardly one to judge another based on their looks. Either you looked like me and risked being dismissed as a nobody (which, actually, I was perfectly fine with - better for the business and all) or you looked like Lucy and risked being propositioned by hormonal idiots.

Still, if I ignored my usual, well, ignorance, I could see where she was coming from.

"That potion," Lupin began suddenly.

I started, my cheeks warming (had he guessed at my thoughts?), before forcing a calmer, less maniacal expression.

"Do you think you can show me where you got it from? At the next Hogsmeade trip, I mean," he said.

I hesitated. As the potion was one of my creations, it certainly wasn't going to appear on the shelves of J. Pippin's Potions (yet - I had plans to stock my potions there...at least until I had enough funds to open my own shop).

I weighed my options. I could refuse his seemingly benign request and risk attracting his merry squad's wrath (again), or I could agree and find some shopkeeper to temporarily house my potion. The only connection I had was the Ravenclaw who had so insulted Lucy; his family owned Ceridwen's Cauldrons, which sold a small variety of potions. I dismissed the idea immediately; I wanted no contact with him, and I had the strong suspicion that sentiment was mutual (I'd been a bit...vehement with my retribution for his insult).

"Willa?" he prompted.

I had two weeks to figure something out. That was plenty of time.

I smiled, saying, "Of course."

He grinned again. He had a nice smile - it appeared slowly, as if he was savoring the emotion, and made him look utterly...happy.

Happy or not, I did have to track down Davis. "Well, I'll see you later…" I said, edging slightly away.

He nodded, still smiling. "I'll see you in Arithmancy," he said. Arithmancy? He was in my class? I supposed it wasn't too much of a stretch; he appeared intelligent, and the elective course was composed of students from all four Houses.

I paused, my Arithmancy book suddenly weighing heavily in my bag. I hated to ask, but even I didn't want another T.

"Er, Lupin, do you think I could borrow your notes from the last two Arithmancy classes?"

He blinked and nodded, his rumpled hair grazing his forehead as he rummaged through his bag. He handed me two rolls of neatly tied parchment.

I took them gratefully. "Thanks."

"Of course," he said.

Not liking how...discomfited his steady gaze was making me feel, I turned and walked hurriedly away, my back rigid. I'd have to be careful around Lupin. He was too bloody disarming.

xxxxx

Production of Euphoria #2 was going smoothly. Although the work was split between only Lucy and I, we were able to produce a surprising quantity of the potion. By the end of the week, we had a row of twenty vials lined up. Although I could have started passing the vials out for distribution, I wanted to wait until I'd built up a more sizable stock. I hadn't revealed my plan to Lucy, for I knew she wouldn't take kindly to it - sister or not. She was, after all, a Hufflepuff.

In fact, this whole plan was mad. Making Hufflepuffs attack Slytherins? Such a notion was ludicrous...yet, if it worked, I could upend the whole House structure. That would finally put an end to this foolish inter-House prejudice which so limited my consumer base.

If I wanted to, I could produce total chaos. I could supply Euphoria #2 to all houses save Slytherin. By leaving Slytherin as the only clear-headed house, I could help manipulate the whole inter-House dynamic to something that favoured Slytherin. This, of course, wasn't my goal - at least not exactly. Besides, that much chaos was bound to draw Dumbledore's attention. I could only hope that the rest of my House wouldn't think of this natural progression to my plan.

To my surprise, Davis had produced the chocolate frogs much earlier than expected, even coughing up an extra pack "for good will." I was, of course, suspicious of his sudden generosity, but I was too desperate to refuse. With the added chocolate, I'd gotten six additional vials from Lucy and was currently working on producing the next batch of Euphoria #2.

"Merlin, Willa, we've been at this for _days_ ," Lucy complained. Her usually smooth blonde hair was a tangled mess, and her skin was bright red from standing over the steaming cauldrons.

"Hours," I corrected. "It's hardly been _days_."

She sniffed and held out an expectant hand. I tossed her a frog, which she swallowed with astonishing efficiency. "Well," she said, directing a stream of WW into the waiting cauldron, "I'm tired. I've decided to unionize."

I couldn't stop the snort from leaving my lips. "Unionize? You and what others?"

"You need me. It doesn't matter if there are a hundred or one of me."

She had a point there. I groaned. "I'll up your pay to three chocolate frogs per vial."

"I want to change it up. I've been yearning for some chocolate wands."

" _That's_ changing it up?"

"It's a different shape! _Different_ being the key word."

I groaned again. I'd have to contact Davis again, which meant I'd need to brew yet another batch of Sobering Draught. But what choice did I have?

My sister's smile was far too mischievous for my liking. Perhaps the Hat had made a mistake with her.

"Fine," I agreed finally.

She beamed, jumping up and down. "Yay!"

Or perhaps not - that move was pure Hufflepuff. The Houses did have their differences, but that didn't mean they couldn't interact peacefully - or at least without jumping down each other's throats. Such animosity was hardly conducive to business.

After I'd managed to convince Lucy to stay for another three hours, enabling the production of an additional six vials, I made one last round of my production array to ensure that none of my other potions were getting out of hand. I paused next to a burbling cauldron of Dreamless Sleep and, slipping two empty vials from my robes, filled them to the brim. I still had to make amends to Jasper for the embarrassing altercation. I could give the second to Valencia. I hadn't seen the Slytherin in several days, and that made me nervous. I preferred to keep potential foes close.

I concealed one of the vials in a standard Honeydukes box and sent it off via owl to Valencia. The other I slipped into my pocket as I made my way to the Great Hall. For whatever reason, Jasper preferred doing his studying there. I suspected he drew comfort from the bustle of the hundreds of students. I'd never asked him why he required so much Dreamless Sleep, as I'd gathered that the reason was unpleasant.

I found the Ravenclaw huddled as usual over a pile of heavy books. Luckily, as it wasn't a meal time the Great Hall was practically empty. I slid into the seat beside his and coughed awkwardly. "Sorry for the other day," I said bluntly. Better to get this over with quickly.

He glanced at me. "It's fine," he said, flipping the page and scrawling a note in the margins. His fingers, I noted, were stained nearly completely black with ink. "You, uh, have a very tight grip."

I winced and, noticing my look of discomfort, Jasper smiled. "It's fine, really," he said, setting down his quill. He brightened suddenly, saying, "Oh! I spoke with my father, and he gave me some good ideas about manipulating the chemical components of the vials to help achieve that delicate balance. I've come up with a promising prototype. It's still undergoing testing, but if all continues to go well I should be able to give you the plans by the end of the month!"

I grinned. Finally - good news. "That's brilliant, Jasper!"

He smiled, running a sheepish hand through his thick black hair. "Thanks," he muttered, his cheeks a pale red.

I ought to seriously consider extending him an offer before some other company snatched him up. This boy was brilliant and, most importantly, discrete.

I slid the last vial of Dreamless Sleep towards him, and his brows arched. "What's this for?"

"I nearly strangled you with affection," I said flatly. "This is to rid you of ensuing nightmares from _that_ lovefest."

His smile broadened. "Death by hug," he said. "Sounds awful."

"Indeed." Satisfied that all was well with this end of the business, I stood from the table, saying, "I'll leave you to your studying. Standard time Sunday?"

He nodded. "I'll give you another update on the vials then."

"Perfect."


	10. Good Deed

**Good Deed™**

As I left the Great Hall, sunlight filtering through the grand windows sent golden arcs of warmth onto my bare arms. I'd planned on consolidating my notes and catching up on Arithmancy (even with Lupin's notes - which were admittedly very thorough - I'd had trouble with the last few assignments) in my usual secluded corner of the library, but the pleasant weather made me direct my path towards the large archway leading outside. While my skin was naturally darker than most, I knew I had grown sallow from months spent in my windowless laboratory.

My feet sank into the soft grass as I made my way to a trio of tall oak trees several paces to the right of the dirt path leading to the Quidditch pitch. Judging by the sun's position, it was getting near dinnertime, so hopefully everyone would be clustering inside and I could avoid being bothered.

After settling myself in among the oak tree's gnarled roots, I allowed myself a moment to relax. I leaned my head against the tree's rough bark, my eyes fluttering shut as I exhaled. The air smelled sweet with the scent of spring, and the soft, clean scent of new grass was better than anything Amortentia could ever summon. Lucy was always chastising me for remaining indoors too much, and perhaps here she did have a point. Of course, I did love the smell of bubbling potions, but this was pleasant, too.

"Thorne?"

I looked up sharply, banging my head against the tree. Above me, a tall, willowy girl with deep red hair looked at me curiously.

Bloody hell, that had hurt. Still, I couldn't reveal any vulnerability. "Head Girl."

Head Girl blanched. "Call me Lily."

I stared at her mutely for several long moments, and she relented with an exasperated sigh. "Evans, then. Just don't call me Head Girl - I'm more than my position, you know."

My gaze dropped to the rather large badge clipped to the front of my robes, and she let out another groan. Against my will, my lips twitched in amusement, and I hurriedly struggled to regain control of my traitorous face. Head Girl's next words, however, served to wipe any lingering amusement.

"Alright, Thorne, who are you?"

I swallowed, thinking furiously, as Head Girl sat herself (entirely uninvited, mind you) down beside me. "Nobody special," I said, cringing as the words left my mouth. Well, that was bloody unconvincing. And cliché.

Head Girl's green eyes flashed as she leaned towards me. Yup, Head Girl was definitely intrigued.

"Nobody special? Thorne - no, Willa, you're a _Muggleborn_ in Slytherin. Merlin, you're a bloody miracle!"

I bristled at both her use of my first name - we were certainly _not_ friends or even business partners - and her incorrect assumption. Had Dark and Hostile not shared my secret with her? That was...surprising. I would have to edit his character assessment at a later time. For now…

I leveled her with a lofty gaze. "I," I said, my voice dangerously quiet, "am _not_ a Muggleborn. I am not your charity case and I am certainly not your friend."

Head Girl frowned but, shaking her head, continued with annoying persistence. "Then how did you know all of those lyrics the other day? That was a Muggle song."

My cheeks burned as I remembered the embarrassing incident - Merlin, I was just lucky no one else had witnessed the effects of the Babbling Beverage. "Lucy likes them," I lied (false: Lucy, for whatever unknown reason, preferred heavy metal to Bowie). "Besides, what, only Muggles can possess knowledge of Muggle things? We have a whole class dedicated to Muggle Studies, for Merlin's sake."

"Hm," Head Girl said, tapping her chin. "And the bat spleen?"

Merlin, she was infuriatingly perceptive. If she wasn't so mind-numbingly moral, I would have gladly recruited her to my business.

I adopted a flustered expression, looking down at my hands. "I'm, well, I'm not the best at potions," I said, careful not to make my voice _too_ pathetic, for Head Girl didn't seem like she was the gullible type. "I thought I could try to get some practice in outside of class."

Pity flashed in her eyes, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. I hated being looked down upon, but it was a sacrifice I would have to make. I'd already given up so much for my business - what was one more act of pity?

"I'm decent with potions," she said. "I could help you, if you'd like."

She was being modest - how infuriating. She was far more than _decent_ ; everyone knew she and Severus were the best (aside from me, of course, but few knew _that_ ) potion brewers in our year.

Looking at the eager Gryffindor, I weighed my options rapidly. I could accept her offer, which would mean I'd gain her goodwill but would also mean I'd have to deal with Ms. Sunshine and Goodness for who knew how long. I could reject her offer, which would mean I'd lose out on a chance to establish a "friendship" with the Head Girl and make her wonder why, if I was so bad at potions, I was rejecting her assistance.

I groaned inwardly. I supposed I'd gotten myself into this mess, so I only had myself to blame. "Alright," I said, forcing a smile. "Thank you, Head G-er, Evans."

"Lily," she supplied helpfully, beaming back. Merlin, she was practically glowing with the force of her Good Deed™.

Swallowing my pride, I forced out, "Thank you, Lily."

"Shall we meet tomorrow afternoon? That way, we can both revise for the Potions quiz on Monday."

Tomorrow afternoon, I planned on giving the first batch of Euphoria #2 to the Slytherins for redistribution.

"Can we make it tomorrow evening? I need to work on my Arithmancy proofs." This was technically not a lie; I really did need to revise for Arithmancy, and I _would_ have been doing that now if not for the redheaded nuisance before me.

To my horror, Lily seemed to glow even brighter, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Dear Merlin, I wasn't sure I was ready for another Good Deed™. Be still, my dark, bitter heart.

"Why don't you ask Remus for help? He's brilliant at Arithmancy. Oh! We should all revise together!"

"Yay…" I said, sounding decidedly unenthused.

Lily clasped my hands, still beaming, and said, "Tomorrow evening in the Gryffindor common room, then?"

I gestured towards the emerald crest on my robes. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

To my surprise, Lily scowled. "Honestly, sometimes I do think the interhouse rivalry goes a bit far," she said primly. "We are all wizards and witches, are we not? Alright, the library, then," she added, her eyes daring me to get out of that one.

"Alright," I relented.

She beamed again, blinding me with her cheerful goodness, and jumped to her feet. "Brilliant! I'll see you at 7 tomorrow," she said. She made to leave before pausing, looking at me curiously. "Are you not coming in for dinner?" she asked.

Merlin, she was relentless. I had the feeling that Lily Evans was going to make a fantastically terrifying (and wonderful) mother someday.

I rummaged through my pack, my fingers closing in on a soft bundle. I lifted the sandwich, displaying it clearly. I often asked the House Elves to pack a sandwich to go, as I was never very comfortable eating in front of everyone. It reminded the Slytherins that I was human and, therefore, vulnerable. "Got it covered," I said. "I really need to get this done, so…"

Thankfully, Lily took the hint (finally. This was the seventh none-too-subtle hint I'd given within the last five minutes alone) and, waving cheerfully, disappeared back into the castle.

Sighing heavily and shaking my head, I turned to stare mournfully at the now-silent clearing. Well, it looked like I would have to find a new quiet space. I stuffed my books haphazardly into my bag and, after considering the sandwich for a moment, wedged the food between my teeth. Then, half-waddling under the weight of my books, I began the long walk in search of a new study space.

xxxxxxxxx

"Be careful with that!"

The Slytherin froze, the vial slanted dangerously close to her face. If Euphoria #2 spilled onto her skin, it would mean the instant loss of two weeks' worth of brewing. The girl would be fine - Euphoria #2 needed to be ingested to be fully effective - aside from a slight increase in bravado, but I needed that vial intact.

I groaned and, striding forward, snatched the potion from her hand. " _This_ ," I hissed, holding the glass vial aloft, "is for the Hufflepuffs. No Slytherin should take it."

The potion gleamed in the off-green light from the windows, and I froze, mesmerized by the hypnotic swirl of the bubbling liquid. What would happen, I wondered dimly, if I uncorked the vial and tipped its contents down my throat? What bliss, what freedom could I achieve?

The Slytherin bristled. "And who are you to order me around?" she retorted.

Lestrange stepped nimbly between us. "Sable, stand down," he ordered.

Sable swung around, looking like she was ready to hex whoever had interrupted her, and paled at Lestrange's answering stare. Shooting me another glare, Sable snatched the vial from my hands and, moving with slightly more care, nestled the glass vial into the inner pocket of her robes.

I nodded my thanks to Lestrange, and the Slytherin, smiling thinly, merely held up three fingers. _Three months_. I buried my fear deep within me and, turning to face the crowd of nineteen Slytherins gathered in the common room, said loudly, "Each of you carries one vial of Euphoria #2. You are to slip the entire contents of this vial, _unnoticed_ , into the Hufflepuffs' dinner tonight. This marks the first trial run of Euphoria #2. If all goes as planned, we should start seeing the effects of the potion tonight and into tomorrow."

The Slytherins murmured amongst themselves, and I rapped my knuckles sharply against a nearby mahogany table. As all eyes turned towards me, I lifted my chin imperiously. "Remember: secrecy is key. Do _not_ draw attention to yourselves. Go about your normal days and, above all, do _not_ ingest the potion yourselves. If -"

I looked at Lestrange and cleared my throat. " _When_ all goes well, we Slytherins will finally begin to free ourselves from this mantle of scorn."

This summoned only disgruntled mutters. I spotted Valencia shaking her head. This was one flaw - some Slytherins _enjoyed_ their separation, their fearsome reputation. I hid a sigh and continued, "And, from that freedom, we will strike when they least suspect it!"  
 _That_ brought the cheers - of course. Shaking my head, I made to slip away, but I felt a hand land on my shoulder.

"So, the Hufflepuffs become happier than normal. Surely you see the flaw with this plan," Valencia said quietly.

Of course I did, but she didn't have to know that. "They won't just be happier - they'll be reckless. All attention will fall on them, leaving-"

"-the Slytherins relatively free to do what we wish," Valencia finished, dark eyes gleaming. "Lestrange must like that."

I chanced a glance over at the other side of the Common Room and, upon seeing Lestrange staring directly at me, flinched. He raised a glass, smiling thinly, and I nodded.

"He won't take no for an answer for very long," Valencia murmured, bringing my attention back to her. To my utter surprise, she was staring at Lestrange with barely concealed hatred.

"Valencia -" I began, but in the next moment one of Valencia's friends, a pretty Seventh Year with wildly curly black hair, gripped her arm.

"Valencia, come try this wine! Yaxley stole it from his father's cupboard - it's _goblin made_."

The prior hatred was gone; Valencia's expression was as guarded as ever, and she left without saying goodbye.

I stared after her, wondering what, exactly, Lestrange had insisted upon. Valencia was no friend, but she was the closest thing I had to an ally - if such a thing existed - in Slytherin. I looked again at Lestrange, who was still staring at me, and glanced quickly away. If even Valencia, for all her skilled wandwork and centuries of pureblood family history, feared making an enemy of Lestrange…

I shuddered. It was time to get back to the lab.

 **AN: Hello! It's been a very, very long time - my apologies (life has been ridiculously busy). I've been reading all of your comments, and I am so honored that all of you are reading this - thank you so much! I'm determined to finish this story!**


	11. Poisoning the Sister

**Poisoning the Sister**

The next morning, I watched the Hufflepuff table carefully for any signs of change. I'd struggled to think of a way to warn Lucy from consuming the food without tipping her off on the plan, which she'd definitely disapprove of, and had settled for slipping her a nausea potion early that morning. I didn't see her at the breakfast table, which was good. The rest of the Hufflepuffs were cheerily consuming their eggs and beans. Apart from a few louder than usual laughs, things were not noticeably different.

I felt the pressure of my Housemates' stares and swallowed, clinging to my blank expression. I stood, shouldering my bag, and made to leave. Before I could get fully out of the hall, however, a rowdy Hufflepuff crashed into me, sending my books - and body - tumbling across the floor. My only solace was that, with the Hufflepuff table being so loud, few had noticed my embarrassing fall. I ignored my stinging knees and began shoving my books back into my bag, keeping my head down.

The Hufflepuff cursed, saying, "Oh, sorry, mate-"

He paused, looking at the emerald snake embroidered on my robes, and his expression shuttered. "You're Lucy's sister!" he shouted, drawing the attention of his friends.

"No, really," I muttered, climbing to my feet. I was sure my shirt was completely askew and that I had bits of egg in my hair, but all I wanted was to escape the situation. Unfortunately, my journal had slid two paces in front of me - right next to the Hufflepuff's feet.

The Hufflepuff knelt, picking up the journal, and shook it in my direction. "I bet you're the reason why she's sick today!"

"What's that?" his mate, an equally tall, broad-shouldered bloke, asked. "What did the Slytherin do?"

"Poor Lucy's been vomiting all morning - her roommate said _this_ girl," - here he shot me a venomous look - "paid her a visit last night. Gave her some rotten chocolates."

Well, he was right. I _had_ technically poisoned my sister - but only to avoid having her be poisoned by my, well, other potions. It was a complicated situation.

The Hufflepuff looked at the journal and, to my horror, began flipping through its contents, continuing in the same, painfully loud voice, "Is this where you write down your poisons? You'd go after your own _sister_ \- who else will you go after?"

Again, he wasn't _wrong_ , and that made it all the worse. For once, I was at a loss for words. "Give - give it back," I tried, my voice wavering somewhat. I held out my hand, and the boy snorted.

"No," he said, snapping my journal shut. "No, I don't think so. I'm tired of you Slytherins bullying us without consequence. Am I right?"

Around him, the small crowd of Hufflepuffs cheered loudly enough to draw the attention of the rest of the Houses. Behind me, I could feel my Housemates' curious looks boring into my back. I knew they weren't going to help me; Merlin, I'd pretty much instructed them _not_ to last night. I was on my own.

If only he had any of my other books - I'd gladly walk away from any of them to escape this situation...but not that book. My journal held the key to my company. I really needed to figure out a way to Transfigure it into something less obvious. If only I were actually competent with a wand.

If only, if only.

I seemed to be doing a lot of wishing lately.

"Give it back," I said again, my voice steely.

"You heard him the first time," his friend said, stepping forward. I was not short, but I still had to crane my head up to look him in the eye. I swallowed. Sure, I had known conflicts would come with the potion, but I had never imagined that _I_ would be the first victim.

Funny how these things worked.

So be it. I looked at the ring of Hufflepuffs, who had managed to encircle me, and sneered.

"Filthy cowards," I said, just loud enough for the Hufflepuffs - and only the Hufflepuffs - to hear.

The sixth year let out a roar and, flinging my journal somewhere behind him, charged. I dropped instantly, narrowly missing his flailing arms, and barreled into his knees. He went crashing to the ground, and I allowed myself a brief moment's satisfaction before a new pair of hands yanked me by my braid. My neck snapped back as I fell to the ground, my hands sliding in spilled ketchup as I struggled for purchase. The collar of my robes flew up, the thick fabric covering my mouth. My breath rasped in my throat as I bit down instinctively, tasting blood.

"OI!" I saw a flash of white as someone cast a hex - not at me, to my great surprise, but at the Hufflepuff pulling my hair. Unfortunately, the Hufflepuff did not let go of her hold, and the force of the hex sent me flying along with her. I crashed into a wooden bench and hissed, blinking blearily as I pushed away from my attacker.

Standing two paces before me, I spotted a flash of red and gold as someone whirled his wand above his head, casting a net around the agitated Hufflepuffs. When he turned, I rubbed at my eyes, sure that the fall had affected my sight - after all, why would Dark and Hostile of all people risk his neck to help _me_?

The bloke had the gall to wink, and I felt my mouth flop open. Oh, to be cocky, male, and young -

I scowled, staggering to my feet. I ignored him pointedly - he seemed to have the situation under control, anyway - and picked up my journal, frowning at the mustard smearing the cover. I'd have to find Lucy - assuming she wasn't still vomiting - and ask her to clean it magically. Otherwise, I had a long day of cleaning ahead. I tucked the journal carefully between my shirt and outer robes and, glancing at the chaos unfolding in the Great Hall, moved to escape as quickly as possible.

"Hey! You're welcome!" I heard the Gryffindor shout behind me.

I paused, not turning back. I ought to feel some sense of satisfaction from this scuffle. This was, after all, my plan, was it not? Have Hufflepuffs become the instigators of chaos and force Gryffindor against Hufflepuff? If even _Dark and Hostile_ was willing to stand up for me, that meant the rest of the Gryffindors would soon follow. I ought to be glad or, at the very least, satisfied.

Instead, I only felt unease (and, of course, a massive headache; Merlin, those tables were _hard_ ). I continued forward with as much dignity as I could muster.

The things I did for science.

xxxxxxxxxxx

That evening, I made my way to the library with the full intent of finally completing my Arithmancy paper. Unfortunately, I saw Lily and Lupin sitting at the table directly facing the entrance, which gave me little room to escape. Blast - I'd forgotten that I was supposed to meet them or, more accurately, that Lily had coerced me into this session.

The Head Girl, of course, spotted me instantly and waved, motioning to the empty chair beside Lupin. I approached gingerly, scooting the chair as far from Lupin as I could, before sitting.

He sniffed, saying, "Is that eggs I smell?"

What was it with Gryffindors and their uncanny sense of smell? I'd tried taking no less than _three_ showers, but the smell of breakfast foods still lingered in my clothes.

Lily's eyes widened. "Wait - were _you_ the Slytherin who got pummeled by the Hufflepuffs today?"

I coughed. "Let's get to the Arithmancy. I don't want to be here all ni-"

"I heard you were knocked unconscious!" Lily breathed, scanning me for injuries.

"No," I said, my voice just a tad shrill, " _No_ , I'm perfectly fine. Now, did you two understand the first chapt-"

"Are you alright?" Lupin asked, turning towards me.

I studiously avoided his gaze; the bloke had an uncanny knack for making me lower my guard. "I'm fine. Pummeled is an overstatement. Besides, Dark an- er, your friend stopped it before it got out of hand," I admitted.

"Dark - _Sirius_? But he hates you!"

" _Remus_ ," Lily hissed, and Lupin flushed, his pretty eyes going wide. "Er, sorry, I only meant -"

I waved a hand. "We came to a truce. Now, can we _please_ get on to the Wenlock Theory?"

Lily, thankfully, opened her Arithmancy book and Lupin soon followed suit. I did wish he would stop staring, though; he looked all too thoughtful for my liking.

"How are you two approaching the proof portion of the assignment?" I asked. I flipped my book open to the section on Wenlock and pointed to one of the paragraphs. "Because here it seems to imply…"

Surprisingly, and to my great relief, we all finished the night with drafts completed. I rolled my parchment and carefully tied it with a frayed length of twine. After slipping it into my bag, I yawned, stretching my arms upward. I felt like there was a tonne of bricks sitting in my mind. I'd barely gotten any sleep last night from nerves over Euphoria #2's performance and, coupled with my head injury earlier this morning…

I needed sleep.

"Merlin, what time is it?" I asked, my throat hoarse from disuse.

Lily looked as bedraggled as I did; her red hair, which was normally neatly styled, was spilling from her bun. The Head Girl looked at the clock behind me and groaned. "It's almost midnight - we'll have to hurry to get back in time for curfew."

I paused. "But - you're _Head Girl_. And you-" here I pointed at Lupin, who looked even more tired than usual, "-are a prefect. Surely you won't get in trouble for staying out a little past curfew."

"We're supposed to be setting an example. How can I enforce the rules if I'm not willing to abide by them?" Lily returned.

I sniffed. I could see her point, but that didn't mean I agreed with it. I stood from the table, surveying the emptied library. "Right, then, this was productive," I admitted reluctantly.

Lupin grinned. "We should do this more often. Willa, that point you brought up about bringing in Castlerock's third theorem was brilliant."

I caught myself blushing somewhat and scowled. _Brilliant_ was certainly not a word I wanted associated with me. I caught Lily looking at me again - yes, this was far too dangerous to repeat. I wasn't ready to be revealed to the public. Not yet.

"Well, I heard Professor Vector mention it in class, so I can't take credit for it," I lied. "Anyway, I need to be going before any do-gooder prefects nab me."

"I'll walk you," Lupin volunteered.

I froze. What would the Slytherins say if they saw us together? They'd assume the worst - it was late, after all. "No," I said, hugging my bag to my chest. "No, you don't have to do that."

"I want to," he said and, with a smile, added, "as a do-gooder prefect."

I glanced at Lily. If I refused Lupin's offer, which was, to the outside eye, entirely harmless, I risked arousing her suspicions even more than I already had.

"Fine."

Lupin's smile broadened - and, as always, the gesture was slow and utterly unsettling. He had a disarmingly warm smile. "Goodnight, Lily," he said, and Lily gave a wave.

The walk through the corridors was uncomfortably quiet. Lupin's face was shrouded, illuminated only by the cool light of the waxing moon and the tip of his wand. Our footfalls echoed loudly, and I, who had never once been afraid of the dark, caught myself jumping at every small noise. I was often out past curfew - the secrecy of my business sometimes required late night rendezvous - but somehow, this night was different. Even Lupin seemed tense, as he kept glancing out of the wall-length windows. Each time, I followed his gaze, half-expecting to see a swarm of Death Eaters, but all I saw was the depthless black of the lake, only half-illuminated by the waxing moon.

Lupin cleared his throat.

"Are you truly fine, Willa? It's unlike the Hufflepuffs to gang up on a student - even a Slyth - er, I mean-"

"It's alright. I know the Houses hold no love for us."

Lupin paused, and I skidded to a halt, reluctant to leave the light of his wand. "Do you really believe that?"

Was he serious? "Can you disagree?"

He was silent for a moment, his eyes shrouded in shadow, before beginning to walk again. "I suppose I can't. I'm sorry."

"For what? You weren't the one to push me to the ground, and you're hardly the source of the prejudice. Generations before us have followed the same interhouse rivalry, and so will generations after." My voice, despite myself, was outwardly bitter, which took even me by surprise. I hadn't realised how angry this made me, but why shouldn't it? The interhouse rivalry was utter rubbish; it meant my business base was slashed in half and for what? A few coloured jewels, a metal cup and the chance to whack at each other on brooms? Oh, yes, _that_ was truly worth a couple million potential galleons in profits.

"I - no, but I've definitely participated in it," he said. "Or, at the very least, I've allowed J- some people to participate, and that feels worse."

"Mm," I said. I wasn't going to lie and say that he was without blame, but I also wasn't going to attack him further. After all, wasn't I also stirring up drama? I thought of the cauldrons of Euphoria #2 just waiting to be harvested for the second dosage. No, it was best to cut this conversation - and relationship, if one could call it that - short. It was time to scare him off once and for all.

"It's late. I appreciate the heroic chivalry, but I can take it from here," I said, crossing my arms. I forced myself to meet his gaze and felt myself fidget.

Lupin paused, saying, "Why do you always do that?"

I frowned. "Do what?"

He took a step forward, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. In the steady light of his wand, the harsh planes of his cheeks practically glowed, making him appear more ghost than man. "You push people away."

I swallowed. Here, I had to strike a delicate balance between turning him off and avoiding offending him too harshly. Lupin didn't seem the type to hold a grudge or to send his friends after me, but still, my business depended on the outcome of this conversation and countless others like it. To be a successful businesswoman, I needed to learn how to navigate potentially treacherous situations, and I was rapidly realising that, even without magic, I could hold my own in a verbal match.

That, at least, was one benefit of being sorted into Slytherin.

"What if I prefer to be alone? Is there some law that demands a witch must have at least three friends to graduate Hogwarts? Must I talk to a person for at least five minutes to consider the day well spent? There is nothing wrong with being an introvert."

Lupin frowned, his lips parting in protest -

"That's not-"

-what he'd meant, I knew, but I had to leave before he could clarify. "Good night, Lupin," I snapped.

This time, he didn't follow.

 **AN: thanks so much for reading. Please consider dropping a review - I love reading your comments! :)**


	12. Happy Fun Hufflepuffs

**Happy Fun Hufflepuffs**

I needed to start lifting weights. I grunted under the weight of my bag, which was stuffed to the brim with vials of Euphoria #2. While I could have asked some Slytherins to help carry the vials, I had no wish to expose my laboratory's location. I also couldn't ask Lucy, as, after several days of keeping her from the dining hall with poisoned chocolates, she'd caught on and was giving me the silent treatment.

No matter. I'd have to take several trips to transport all the vials to the common room, but there was no use complaining. It had to be done - anything to keep Lestrange off my back. I winced as I took a step down the staircase, the movement sending a fresh clinking noise echoing through the empty corridor. It was late - almost midnight - and most students had returned to their common rooms for the night.

"One, two, three," I muttered to myself, counting the steps as I waddled down. I clutched the bag against my stomach. My arms burned with the effort, and I had to pause every few steps to shake out my cramping limbs. If I were competent with a wand, I'd levitate the bag.

I heard steps approaching and froze. I briefly considered shoving the bag under my shirt but dismissed the notion almost immediately. Instead, I covered most of it with the ends of my robes and pretended to look out the window directly to my right, propping my elbow against the cool stone.

The steps grew louder - one person, thankfully - and, to my surprise, paused. I felt my shoulders slump. Maybe if I didn't turn around, the person would leave.

Silence.

I tried coughing, making the sound as wet and disgusting as possible. There was a nasty stomach bug going around, so this person, if they were at all sane, would leave.

Nothing.

Still looking determinedly out the window, I fished a crumpled tissue from my robes and blew my nose loudly, hacking again for good measure.

"Merlin, Thorne, you sound like my ninety year old grandfather, and he's missing a lung."

I winced. Well, that explained why the person hadn't left after my germ display. I turned, careful to keep my robe covering my bag, and faced Dark and Hostile. Well, at least the staircase was dim enough that the bulbous growth at my ankles was hidden.

"What do you want?" I demanded, shoving the tissue into my pocket. I folded my arms and, when the Gryffindor didn't respond, coughed again.

"Good effort, Thorne," he said.

I scowled. I didn't know him well enough to know how to get rid of him, and it seemed the usual tricks wouldn't work. Instead, I waited. He seemed like he liked hearing the sound of his voice - he'd talk eventually.

And, sure enough, the Gryffindor grinned and leaned against the opposite wall, the picture of lazy ease. "Do you spend a lot of time on the seventh floor?"

I coughed and, this time, the sound wasn't forced. Merlin, I'd have to remember that there was more to this bloke than flashy looks. He was far too perceptive for my liking.

"I like the view," I said.

Black glanced at the window behind me, which I knew yielded only darkness. I should have picked a better lie. "Not much of a view," he said.

I shrugged, saying, "I feel closer to the stars. I'm, uh, very into astrology."

Black laughed, and the sound of it - brash and without any hint of reserve - filled the narrow stairwell. I winced instinctively, glancing for any eavesdroppers. This whole encounter was taking far too long. "Really?" he said, stepping forward. "What's your sign?"

I felt sweat drip down my back. Merlin, I couldn't even leave because of this blasted bag. Didn't this guy have anywhere else to be? Was this really the best use of his time? It was time to go on the offensive.

"Why are you going to the seventh floor? It's almost curfew."

Black paused, his lips pulling into a crooked smile. "Ah," he said, flinging his arms up behind his head. "A gentleman never tells."

For the first time, I took in his hair, which was even more rumpled than usual, and half-unbuttoned white shirt. Merlin. Had - had I been brewing potions whilst that - that - hormone explosion was occuring right next door?

I let out a long breath. Perhaps I needed to treat him like a five year old. "Congratulations," I said.

Dark and Hostile leaned towards me, dark eyes squinting in exaggerated scrutiny, and gasped, his hands snapping up to cover his chest protectively. "Are you - _what are you thinking_ , Thorne? What a dirty mind you have! Merlin, woman, I only meant I was planting some dung bombs in the charms classroom."

Scratch that previous comment - I needed to treat him like a two year old, as apparently that was his maturity level. "Goodnight, Black."

I moved to pick up my bag, remembering only seconds too late that it was filled with almost a hundred filled glass vials.

"Oof," I grunted, doubling over under the weight. A pair of hands appeared by mine, and I scowled, trying to edge away from the Gryffindor.

"Don't be stubborn," Dark and Hostile said. "You're carrying at least two small children in there."

"Three," I said automatically and, seeing his delighted look, cringed. This was not the time for banter. It was so easy to forget that he was a Gryffindor and thus extremely dangerous.

Sure enough, another loud laugh careened through the staircase, as wild and unashamed as the man himself. "You have a sense of humour," he said, sounding insultingly surprised.

I tried wrenching the bag towards me, but his hands only tightened around it. "Let me help you," he said. He grinned again, and I looked away hurriedly, not wanting to get more flustered than I already was.

This was the second time he'd helped me this past week. I didn't trust him, and I didn't like him...but, it was dangerously close to curfew, and I couldn't risk getting caught with the vials. There was no way I was going to make it to the dungeons at my current pace.

"Fine," I allowed. "Move."

Black rolled his eyes but, thankfully, began edging down the staircase. The movement was awkward, considering he stood a full head above me, but together, we managed to maneuver the bag downstairs. The bag's weight had one benefit - the strain of carrying it down seven flights of stairs shut the Gryffindor up, which was good. It also made my arms feel like limp noodles, which was less good.

At the bottom of the seven flights, both Black and I paused for breath, folding over in varying degrees of fatigue. I tried lifting one of my arms experimentally and watched in mild horror as it flopped back down immediately. If I didn't know better, I would have said I was the victim of a bone-vanishing hex, but, alas, I was only woefully out of shape / possessed the strength of a newborn baby.

Yup, I definitely needed to begin working out.

Beside me, Dark and Hostile straightened, pushing his dark hair back from his face, and stretched. His bones cracked audibly, and he groaned. "Merlin, woman, what _are_ you carrying?"

He paused, eyes widening, and added, "Did you steal a statue?"

He sounded a little too excited at the prospect. Wasn't Lupin a prefect? One would think he'd have knocked some rule-abiding sense into his friend by now. Of course, I certainly wasn't one for strictly adhering to the rules, but I only broke them when there was a tangible benefit to be had. Stealing a statue had no tangible benefits.

"Thanks," I bit out. "For the help."

His teeth gleamed in the dim light as he flashed another crooked smile. "That sounded like it hurt to say."

I shook out my arms, steeling myself for the final journey into the Slytherin common room, and said, "It was the worst pain imaginable. Goodbye."

Then, without waiting for a response, I half-kicked, half-rolled the bag through the stone archway. When I entered the common room, I handed the bag off to Evan Rosier, who was in charge of distributions, and made my way towards the girls' dormitories. Before I could escape, however, a hand pulled at my robes.

I flinched and turned, keeping my face carefully expressionless. Severus frowned at me and gestured at Rosier, who was levitating vials out of the bag with ill-concealed glee.

"How did you isolate the psychological effects from the physical? Did you begin with a base of Felix Felicis?"

I swallowed. This was what I'd - foolishly - hoped to avoid. If anyone could identify the secret ingredient in Euphoria #2, it was Severus Snape. The Slytherin eyed the hovering vials, his black eyes gleaming in the off-green light of the lanterns, and continued, "No, you can't have - Felix Felicis is far too expensive to brew in large quantities. You must have started anew."

Merlin, I was finding myself in far too many treacherous conversations these days. I'd have to be especially careful with Severus, though; he'd sniff out any potions-related lie far too easily. "I did not use Felix Felicis," I said.

"Hm," he said and, with a flick of his wrist, drew his wand.

 _Be still, Willa_ , I urged myself, watching with a mix of fear and jealousy as Severus redirected one of the floating vials to his waiting palm. He rolled it between his fingers and held it up to the lantern. Inside, the pale smoke swirled lazily, condensing and evaporating instantaneously.

"How interesting," he murmured. "You've managed to maintain a state in between air and liquid. Does the potion retain these characteristics outside of room temperature?"

Despite myself, I found myself warming to the subject. It wasn't often that I had the chance to discuss potions related ideas with anyone. I had Jasper, of course, but his specialty was in engineering physical prototypes rather than brewing potions.

"Yes," I said, feeling a flush of pride. "I've tested it up to two hundred degrees celsius, and it's maintained its properties so far. I haven't tested beyond that."

"What about cooling it?"

I shook my head. "I haven't had the chance yet."

Severus tapped the vial with his wand and said, "Glacius."

A wash of cold air spilled over the vial, and the glass frosted over from the sudden drop in temperature. Severus shook off the external frost and held the vial up again. We both squinted at the contents and, upon seeing the interior, exchanged looks.

The potion, which had once had the texture of a fine mist, had crystallized into wickedly sharp spikes. "Well," I said, struggling to keep my tone dry, "I suppose we won't be able to hide it in ice cream."

"No," Severus said, eyes still narrowed in thought, "I suppose we won't." He pocketed the vial and was gone before I had the chance to protest.

Bugger. I'd hoped he would return the vial to Rosier, but of course he'd want to analyse its contents - it's what I'd have wanted to do, had I been in his place. It would take even Severus some time to discover the secret ingredient, as no previous potion had utilized water from a wand. Still, it was only a matter of time before he figured it out.

I looked again at the Slytherin common room, so dark in the reserved light of the lanterns. Many old, very wealthy families were in Slytherin. If I pulled this off, I would secure an invaluable network of potential investors and customers.

If I didn't…

Well, Slytherin was also home to families willing to do just about anything to get their way, and if that way meant ridding the world of the Slytherin who had humiliated her house with an ill-advised attempt to make "happy fun Hufflepuffs," then that meant I was utterly and completely screwed.

Here's hoping that wouldn't be the case.

 **an: thanks all for reading! I loved reading your comments :)**


	13. Catatonic Zombie

**Catatonic Zombie**

Hogsmeade had never been my favourite place. I felt it didn't live up to the hype; I lacked the friends to enjoy Three Broomsticks fully and had no interest in clothes or Quidditch, which ruled out Gladrags Wizardwear and Spintwitches Sporting Needs. Hogsmeade was only valuable because it was home to Honeydukes, which sold Lucy's favoured chocolates, and even that was useless, now. Lucy still hadn't forgiven me, and I suspected Euphoria #2 was partly to blame for her continued anger. It made my stomach twist to know that my own sister was ingesting the potion unwittingly - a potion that had undergone no safety trials whatsoever, but what choice did I have? Surely, she would forgive me once this was all over. Surely, she would see that I'd had little choice, that I faced not only my classmates but the threat of those classmates' older, more sinister relatives. Surely.

Besides, I couldn't tell her the truth; she was my sister, but I was unsure whether that would mean she'd be comfortable letting her housemates be involuntarily subject to an entirely unapproved trial. Something told me she wouldn't be, so Lucy remained in the dark.

The only other shop I frequented was J. Pippin's Potions. I liked to keep an eye on my competitors, and they often stocked useful ingredients, anyway. So, I bypassed the throngs of chattering students clutching sweets or steaming mugs of pumpkin juice and made my way up the narrow cobblestone path leading to the shop. I paused at the dark green door, entering only when I was satisfied that no one was paying me any attention. Being unremarkable had its advantages; coasting by in my classes, playing the dull fool, meant no one watched me too closely. I was just another Slytherin, just another teenage girl, and I liked that.

The role fit me, for now. Of course, I'd be happy when I could release my products to the public, but that time hadn't come yet. I barely had enough funds to support my limited production now, and I had no set infrastructure for expanding beyond the subset of Hogwarts I targeted. To truly establish a company, I needed to secure a solicitor, which required galleons I did not have, and production agreements, which required galleons I did not have, and advertising, which, you guessed it, required galleons I did not have.

Sometimes, I envied my Slytherin classmates. Many - most - came from wealthy families. Old, respected families. Families who could call in favours, who could establish a factory in a day if needed.

I lacked those advantages. My mother was a Squib, and she was sure to be laughed out of any serious business discussion. I was hardly any better, magic-wise, and Lucy was a _Hufflepuff_. And my father - well, I had no idea who he was, but he was sure to be a muggle and, thus, useless. At least for my needs.

The bell above me announced my entrance as I pushed through the green wooden door. Inside, the air smelled heavily of knotgrass and fluxweed, and I breathed it in deeply. It was a strong smell, one that had inspired the creation of many odor-eliminating charms for the ordinary household, but any potioneer worth her salt felt at home in the stench.

Biggins, the elderly shopkeeper, gave me a cursory glance before returning to his paper. He was cranky and kept all social interactions to a minimum - in other words, he was my kind of person. I made my way past the brightly lit, central displays ("Miss Maxine's Fabulous Hair Detangler!" was, oddly, placed right next to "Boris's Instant Beard: for All Occasions"), winding my way through the sterile aisles. As a national chain, J. Pippin's Potions had all the standardised trappings of an established company - well-advertised prices, impersonal lighting, and mass-produced potions. On good days, I felt that their massive scale would be their downfall; consumers would see that the company's relentless spread into all areas meant their quality had fallen, that they'd prioritised scale over innovation. On bad days, I felt I could never compete with such an established name - why go for the unknown, "W" brand when you could go for the brand you've seen your neighbours and family members use for generations?

Interesting; they'd released a new line of love potions, all strictly weaker than Amortentia, of course, as that particular potion had a slew of bad press surrounding it. I took the closest bottle and turned it in my palm, ignoring the glowing hearts. Unlike Muggle pharmaceutical products, wizarding potions did not have to list all of their ingredients - only the particularly dangerous ones and even then, there was no mention of quantities involved. Here, the labeling only said, "Brewed with RARE pearl dust from the Arctic Sea for discrete, delayed effect!" I tipped the glass vial towards my nose, trying in vain to sniff out its contents, but it was sealed shut.

From the looks of the potion, it didn't look anything different from the standard love potion - certainly not worth its price tag of - here, I checked the paper slip, and my eyes widened - _eighteen_ galleons. Merlin, that was expensive. Well. When I released my Essence of Aphrodite to the public, I'd be sure to make my prices more reasonable. Hopefully. I bit my lip, regarding the gleaming shelves neatly stocked with row after row of brightly coloured potion. J. Pippin's had the advantage of scale; they could cut deals with manufacturers to decrease their production costs, which meant they could sell their potions at lower prices than a smaller producer.

I wished Hogwarts had business courses; really, what good was learning how to transfigure a teacup into a rat? A rat wasn't going to pay my rent. In my palm, the vial seemed to gleam mockingly, and I scowled down at it. I was certain my potion was superior to this one...which, speaking of, I still hadn't heard from Meredith Thomas, the Gryffindor who'd ordered enough Essence of Aphrodite to keep a person bewitched for a full year. I supposed she must be satisfied with the product, which was good; hopefully, she'd put in a repeat order. I only wondered who she'd targeted with the potion; it would be hard to discern for outside viewers, as my potion worked subtly, gradually. It mimicked natural love almost perfectly, which, as Lucy put it, was ironic, as I'd never even been close to experiencing the emotion. There just hadn't been much time to think about dating anyone and, besides, I'd never been the type to be attracted to anyone on the spot. I had to get to know the person first, which was dangerous and thus not likely to occur.

"Willa!"

I started, ears burning red, as I turned. Lupin beamed at me, looking markedly improved; beside him, Black gave me a salute, but the gesture lacked malice.

"I thought I'd find you here," Lupin said. He gestured behind him, where the medicine potions were kept. "I'm hoping to find those headache potions; they were dead useful, but I can't seem to find them. Do you know where they're kept?"

Oops. I'd forgotten I'd told him that I'd purchased the migraine potions at J. Pippin's; I hadn't expected him to remember, much less _follow through_.

"Er," I said, struggling to think of a plausible lie.

Sirius's dark eyes landed on the potion - the _love_ potion I realised with a silent curse - in my hands, and his mouth widened into a lopsided grin. "Looking to bewitch me, eh, Thorne?" he said, eyebrows wagging.

I was certain my whole face was red. Merlin, this was bad. Thankfully, Lupin merely rolled his eyes and said, "Don't be daft, Sirius. She doesn't need a potion to bewitch anyone."

There was a pause. Sirius's brow furrowed, and even Lupin looked a bit pink. I was sure he didn't mean it that way, but I was pretty sure I still choked. Or died. Or both. Either way, the vial dropped from my shaking hand and did what poor quality glass did upon hitting a hard surface - it shattered, splattering a shimmering pink liquid (how cliché, _honestly_ ) all over our robes.

Well, that wasn't good. We all looked at each other, expressions ranging from disbelief (Black) to horror (Lupin) to catatonic zombie (me).

"This potion doesn't seep through clothes, does it?" Black asked. His voice sounded half-strangled and higher than I'd ever heard it.

Lupin lifted the hem of his robes carefully. "You don't want to know the answer to that question," he said.

"Oi!" I heard Biggins shout from somewhere near the front of the store. While the old man had perfected the art of ignoring an "Excuse me? Where is the-", he'd certainly not lost his ability to identify the sound of a broken potion.

The elderly shopkeeper came running towards us, skidding to a halt when he saw the sparkling mess in the aisle. "Rascals!" he spat. "Hooligans!"

"Sorry, sir," Lupin said. He glanced at me worriedly - but without any visible affection, to my great relief. The potion hadn't taken effect yet; the pearl dust, it seemed, must actually have been high quality, as anything less than pure, saltwater pearls would have made for an immediate reaction. Perhaps I had given J. Pippin's too little credit. As advertised, their potion was, in fact, delayed. Or maybe it didn't work at all! That would be wonderful. And unlikely.

Maybe I should say something; Lupin kept looking at me like he feared I was going to scream. Or cry. Maybe both. Both were possibilities, if I'd been Lucy. Instead, I shook myself awake - Merlin, I was a Slytherin, not some bumbling fool - and turned to Biggins. "My apologies," I said, fighting to keep my voice level. I withdrew eighteen galleons from my pocket, suppressing a wince as I handed the golden coins over to the man. Well, there went my entire research and development funds. Thankfully, I still had some potions ready to sell, but the recent Euphoria #2 brewing had drained my ingredients store, and it wasn't like anyone was paying me for Euphoria #2.

Black was muttering to himself - something about being too young to be chained to anyone. Right. Funds were not my immediate concern here. I needed to get an antidote. I stooped, trying not to panic (how long had it been? How long was _delayed_ , anyway?), and cursed when I failed to find the antidotes in their usual spot.

"Biggins," I demanded. "Where are the antidotes?"

He sniffed. "We're out," he said. "Some teenager came in with her mum earlier this morning - a failed attempt at ensnaring her whole neighbourhood, apparently. The silly child got caught, and her mum made her buy out the whole stock of antidotes, poor thing." The glint in his beady eyes told me he didn't feel sorry at all; he was probably glad for the added revenue. Under ordinary circumstances, I wouldn't blame him, but now, when I was _this_ close to being in an excruciatingly uncomfortable situation with the two worst people possible?

I glanced at the two Gryffindors; their heads were huddled close together, and they were whispering something. I did a quick mental check; nope, I still felt nothing more than mild irritation. No warmth, no love, thank Merlin.

I did have my Essence of Aphrodite antidote, but I'd left that in my trunk back at Hogwarts. I supposed a bezoar could do the trick, but those were bloody expensive and I'd just cleaned out the last of my coffers. I cast an appraising eye at the arguing duo behind me; Lupin's clothes, while clean, looked well worn, and, from what I'd heard, Black was hardly on good terms with his family. So, they were useless. I was sure I could intimidate Biggins into lending one to us, as I'd made sure to seek out his secrets before stepping foot in the shop. He had an illegitimate daughter living in Australia, and he sent funds to her without his wife knowing. I'd never brought it up, as secrets, once spent, were as valuable as a mouldy loaf of bread, and I was loathe to waste it now.

I looked again at the two boys. They hadn't seen this side of me yet - the ruthless side. Logically, I knew getting the bezoar was worth it, but, somehow, I didn't want to break the fragile...not camaraderie, exactly, but truce between us. Merlin.

Lupin was pointing angrily at Black - probably dissuading him from some inane scheme. He looked so nice, standing there. His eyelashes were so _long_ , and his hair looked so soft. He was a pretty man, and -

Good god. Okay, it was worth it. I wrenched my eyes away from the Gryffindor, cheeks burning, and turned to Biggins - only, the man wasn't there anymore, and why had I wanted to get rid of this feeling, anyway? Love was _wonderful_.

I spun back towards the two beautiful boys and flung my arms around them.

"Uh-" Sirius said. He patted my back awkwardly. Oops. I suppose I'd been a bit too forceful. I leaned back, beaming at them. They exchanged nervous looks - right. They were both larger than I was, so they weren't experiencing the potion's benefits yet. But they would! Soon. Soon, soon, soon.

I sighed dreamily, leaning against Remus - sweet, clever Remus. "You're so pretty," I said, and his cheeks went red. I reached up, and he went perfectly still. This close, I could see that his eyes were more yellow than green - how positively delightful! I'd never seen eyes like his before. "Like a pumpkin loaf," I finished, tapping his nose. He blinked. Beside him, Sirius guffawed. "Hear that, Moony? You're as beautiful as a freshly baked pastry!"

Remus was so red, now. It was endearing. He was so kind, too; I'd seen him help younger students around the castle, and yes, that was part of his responsibilities as a Prefect but, oh, he'd looked so _nice_ doing it. "Okay, Willa," he said, trying to dislodge my grip.

I held fast; I'd always been strong. Or, at least, determined, and that made up for any physical weakness. I wanted to kiss him. I leaned up, wrapping my arms around his neck -

"Oi!" came Biggins again. He swatted at me with his paper. "Take it outside." I saw Remus swallow; he was avoiding my eyes. With Sirius's aid, he guided me towards the exit. This was all Biggins's fault - the hateful man! How dare he stand in the way of love?

Once we'd left the shop, I sighed. When that didn't elicit the sympathetic response I was hoping for, I tried again: "SIGH."

Sirius looked at me. "Saying 'sigh' doesn't actually mean you're sighing, you know," he said. Then he paused. Stared at me. And I saw the shift - his dark brows furrowed, and his head tilted, and standing there, with the setting sun casting him in gold, I felt I could marry him. At last, he was feeling the potion's effects and he could join me in experiencing the joy!

"You have knotgrass in your hair," he said, and the moment was gone. My smile faltered, but only for a second. It was odd that he wasn't experiencing the potion at all, but at least I had Remus - wonderful, wonderful Remus.

I turned to the boy and he, at least, seemed to be more amenable than Sirius. He looked at me with such affection, such warmth, such -

I swallowed. I'd never been looked at in this way, like I was the only person in his world. Like I was the only thing he wanted. "Willa," Remus breathed, and I felt a thrill travel down my spine.

I stepped closer. His hand curved around my cheek, his fingertips tracing the length of my jaw. I felt like burning. I felt brave.

"Remus," I said, and his eyes widened. I pulled him towards me, my mouth tilting towards his -

"Oh, for the love of Merlin," I dimly heard Sirius say. He wrenched us apart and, with an unceremonial flick of his wand, sprayed us both with water. "Down!" he commanded.

I spluttered. If I didn't love him, I'd hit him with my most painful corrosive potion. Beside me, Remus must have been thinking the same, for his hand kept clenching and unclenching around his wand. Sirius seemed to find this immensely funny, as he laughed again.

He raised his wand again, and I snatched it from his hand. "Love has its limits!" I warned, brandishing it. I could always hit him with a _minor_ stinging potion. It would be painful but not permanently scarring. A kindness, really.

Sirius blinked. "Interesting," he observed, his tone mild. "You're just as antagonistic to the ones you love."

Something about that made my stomach clench - and, bizarrely, I thought of Lucy. The thought of my sister was like cold water - or, more specifically, _witch_ water, which made me think of Euphoria #2 and all the things I was doing to my sister. Merlin, I was a terrible person.

Already, I could feel the dull haze of the potion tugging at the seams of my vision, urging me to drop my barbed armor and turn instead to hugs and _kisses_. I shook the thought off. "Black," I snapped, and, thankfully, he quieted.

"We need a bezoar," I said quickly, and Sirius cursed. "A _bezoar_? Those cost as much as a broomstick!"

Beside me, Remus was doing some horribly distracting things; he'd wrapped his arm around my waist, and his head dipped to the curve of my neck. I sucked in a sharp breath, digging my nails into my palms, and willed myself to think. "We need an antidote - a _love_ potion antidote. I have one in my dorm, but there's no way you can get past the Slytherin common room."

Sirius brightened. "No," he said. "But I know someone who can."

 **Author note: this is all so terribly self-indulgent and fun to write - thank you all for putting up with these antics and thank you so much to everyone who's commented! please drop a note - all reviewers will get a teaser of the next chapter ;)**


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